Beginnings
by Miri1984
Summary: Prequel to "Consequences" follows in game events. Miranda Cousland finds herself one of the only two grey wardens in Ferelden during a Blight and must lead her party to victory against the darkspawn. Rated M for sex scenes.
1. Chapter 1

Beginnings

_One._

The tears wouldn't stop, but they weren't the worst. She'd never been able to weep with dignity, the way her mother had at state funerals. Instead she cried in great, gasping sobs, with snorting and snuffles and all manner of sound that screamed out she was not a lady, despite her birth and her upbringing.

Duncan respected her grief by walking a fair distance apart from her. Hugo nuzzled at her hand every now and then in concern, but as much as she was grateful for the presence of the warhound, he was not what she needed.

_I would have stayed, _she thought. _I would have stayed if you'd only wanted me to._

That was what hurt the most, although part of her knew she was being stupid. They'd told her to go. Logically, she knew she had to find Fergus. Logically, she knew she was the best chance her family had of getting revenge on the Howes. But logic had nothing to do with grief, and for this short time, grief held sway over Miranda Cousland, and would for some time yet.

By Ostagar she had controlled the worst of it. It was only at night when she woke that she felt overwhelmed and the tears came. They leaked, now, instead of gushed, and it helped to bury her hands in Hugo's short fur and let him lick the salt of them away.

The ruined fortress was magnificent, in its way, and she found herself admiring the architecture and sweeping views. It was defensively sound, but she wondered about the Darkspawn and their numbers. If it was truly a blight, as Duncan said, it seemed strange that the King and Loghain were willing to risk all of their resources on this one plan.

Cailan didn't recognise her at first, for which she was grateful. She didn't have the energy to press her cause - revenge against the Howes - figuring it would be better to approach him after the battle, as a full warden rather than the eligible noblewoman he no doubt had her pegged as. She was interested to finally see Loghain, the hero of Ferelden - Anora's father. He looked nothing like his daughter, she thought. Haggard. Dark circles under his eyes. Grumpy. _I suppose if I'd spent half my life killing things I'd be grumpy too._

Duncan's steady presence was beginning to feel like an anchor and she found herself wanting to impress him. When he asked her to find the newest grey warden she was happy to oblige, but she took some time to wander through the camp before she seriously started to search.

She found him, eventually, talking to a mage. Dressed in splintmail with a sword and shield on his back, blonde hair glinting in the sunlight, he looked like some sort of avenging fade spirit - but he was arguing in the wearied, resigned tones of the seriously bored.

"And here I was going to name one of my children after you. The grumpy one."

Her lips quirked in a smile that she quickly suppressed. When the mage departed he turned to face her and she felt a jolt of recognition. Those eyes... where had she seen them before? He looked puzzled as well - as though he should have recognised her, but his words were light. "One good thing about the blight is how it brings people together," he said.

She controlled the smile better this time. "You're a strange man, did you know that?"

"It's not the first time I've been told that. Wait, I do know you. You're the new recruit that Duncan brought."

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Miranda.." she had been about to add "Cousland" but something stopped her.

"Right.. that was the name," he smiled then, suddenly sunny and she found it almost impossible not to smile in return. This was a grey warden? She'd pictured them all like Duncan - grave and ominous and full of gloomy predictions. This man looked as cheerful as a child in a sandpit. "You know, it's just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the grey wardens."

She cocked an eyebrow. "You want more women in the wardens, do you?"

"Would that be such a bad thing?" his smile was suggestive and she found herself glaring - this was the attitude she got from friends of Fergus when they saw her on the practice field - the attitude she often had to beat out of them. He noticed her glare and the smile faded. "Not that I'm some sort of drooling lecher... please stop looking at me like that..."

He was impossible not to like. But she kept her expression serious.

She probed him for information about Duncan and the Blight and reassessed her first impression. He wasn't stupid - he answered her questions concisely with a hint of humour. He was so proud of being a warden - that was what struck her the most. It made her think her decision to follow Duncan might have been the right one.

But when she asked him about the Joining, his face fell and she could get nothing from him. "I'm sorry, you'll just have to wait. We're not allowed to talk about it."

Duncan explained what they needed. She was eager to get out into the wilds. Apart from her battles with Howe's men alongside her mother she had not had the opportunity to test her skills, save against others on the practice field. She was interested to discover that she was frightened, a cold knot of fear in the centre of her stomach, but it was controllable and in an odd way, comforting. She was scared of her own death, she realised, which meant she must have something she wanted to live for.

Alistair stopped the three of them at the entrance to the wilds. "We'll need to work as a team," he said. "Daveth, you're an archer, and so are you my lady - I'll ask you to stay back and use your bows for as long as possible - if you need to draw steel, do so, but I don't want you wading into the field, especially with Jory there. There's a real possibility he could hit you without meaning to. I'll be able to cover that with my shield but a sword and dagger aren't much protection against a two handed sword."

She nodded. She wasn't the best archer, but she was competent, and she well knew that her style of fighting was better suited to stealth than frontal attack.

"I can warn you about approaching darkspawn," Alistair continued. "But the wilds have things other than that. There are wolves - bandits - spirits, even the occasional bear. Most of the wild animals will have fled when the darkspawn came, but those who remain are likely to be tainted or mad with fear - more likely to attack rather than less. So you'll all need to be on your guard." All traces of the sunny, joking man she'd met in the ruins were gone. This was a warrior - with experience and competence and she found herself revising her impression of him yet again.

"I have some templar abilities," he continued, "so if you find yourself in magical trouble..." Jory's mouth opened and he looked pale suddenly "... the darkspawn have some magic, yes Jory.. let me know and there's a chance I can help you out. Any questions?"

They were silent.

"Right," Alistair said. "Let's go."

It was a familiar dance, but with added steps. The churning nervousness in her stomach. Blood. She drew and released, and drew and released till her quiver was empty. Alistair and Jory fought back to back presenting a larger target that was easy for her to avoid, but she was unreasonably terrified of hitting one of them. Daveth was the better archer, but when it came to melee, she was far more effective at stealth and speed. In the end she gave him her quiver and Alistair took to letting her scout ahead whenever he sensed darkspawn. She would find Daveth a good shooting point and flank the enemies before Alistair and Jory attacked. Often she could get in two or three kills before having to slip away again once the men had drawn the darkspawn's attention.

After their fourth encounter, as Alistiar stood leaning on his sword and panting, he called her over. Jory had sustained a cut between the plates of his armour and Daveth was tending to it, out of their earshot.

"I've worked it out," he said as he caught his breath.

"Worked what out?" she asked.

"Where I know you from," he said then. So he had felt the same jolt of recognition she had.

"You know me?"

He grinned at her. "Redcliffe castle," he said then. "Nearly twelve years ago."

She was puzzled. She'd been to Redcliffe a few times in her life - her father was... had been a good friend to Arl Eamonn, but she couldn't fit Alistair into the pictures from those few times. She shook her head.

His grin faded a little. "There was a rusty cage," he said. "In the cellars?"

The memory exploded in her mind and she started to laugh. "You were the boy in the cage?" she said. His grin returned in full.

"You saved my life that day," he said. "Looks like you might make it a habit."

She found herself returning the smile, the first time since leaving Highever that it didn't feel forced.

The treaties weren't there. She looked up at Alistair from the empty chest and shrugged. He looked troubled. "I can't think of any reason why someone would take them," he said then.

The voice that greeted them was silky smooth and matched the woman perfectly. She was beautiful, and obviously an apostate mage. No circle mage ever wore robes that... revealing.

To her surprise, though, none of the men were eyeing her with any lust at all. Daveth and Jory looked afraid and Alistair looked... furious. _Templar, _she remembered.

"Your woman's mind does not frighten as easily, I hope?" the mage was saying. Miranda was nonplussed. Politeness took over and she introduced herself.

Daveth and Jory looked like she'd turned into a frog. Alistair was glaring suspiciously. She shrugged at them, remembering the words of her mother "It never hurts to be polite."

Meeting Morrigan's mother was surreal. Somehow it seemed she had taken charge and she thought it must be because of her gender. Although she had a healthy respect for mages she hadn't met many during her life and she reasoned if Morrigan and her mother wanted them dead they would have been long before now. As it was, they managed to get the treaties with no more trouble than a short walk out of their way and some polite conversation.

Morrigan guided them back through the wilds. When she was out of earshot Alistair came up beside her. "How did you do that?" he asked her.

"Do what?"

"Convince them to give us the treaties?"

"I didn't have to do anything," she said, slightly irritated. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to be polite?"

Alistair's face clouded. "Well, not my mother, no," he said then. "I suppose templars haven't really tried the politeness option with apostate mages. Perhaps I should write to the grand cleric and suggest we make it part of the training."

"It might even help," she said, smiling. He grinned back at her.

"Good work," he said then. "You really handled yourself out there, you know?"

She found herself blushing with the praise. "I just hope you... do well in the joining." He had been about to say something else, she knew, and the grin had completely disappeared as he dropped back to talk with Daveth and Jory.

_Well, I bet father wouldn't have let me go with him if he knew THAT. _She folded her arms across her chest and glared at Duncan and Alistair. How was she supposed to find Fergus or kill Howe if she was dead? She had half a mind to leave before they could force anything else down her throat. The two wardens looked so solemn... and so ... self righteous that she found herself itching to draw her dagger.

Daveth went first.. and died. _Doesn't look pleasant, _she thought to herself. But it was Jory's death that made her realise she had no real choice in this. _I could take Duncan on his own, _she thought - although she was probably being optimistic, _but I don't think Alistair would stand there and watch. _The two of them together could easily overpower her, and they would be ready - after what happened with Jory. Duncan offered her the cup. For a moment she stood there, arms folded across her chest. Duncan did not move but merely looked at her. Alistair had his hand on his sword hilt and she remembered him in the wilds, kicking a darkspawn off the blade and turning to the next in one fluid motion. Staring at her with mute pleading, too proud to ask for help in the cellar at Redcliffe. _Would he really kill me? _she thought. She looked up into his eyes and saw resignation - determination. _He's part of something, _she thought. _And it's bigger than I am. _

She reached out and took the cup.

The pain was searing and unbearable. She felt like every nerve was on fire. But she could have dealt with that if it wasn't for the fear - the crushing wrongness. An enormous dragon was screaming at her, its mouth open, flames pouring out of it and surrounding her with liquid pain. She struggled - cried out - tried to push herself away. Too late she realised she was on a precipice and the flames all but consumed her as she pushed herself over the edge and plunged downwards - the dragon's snake like head snapping down at her as she fell....

She opened her eyes and saw two faces - Duncan's, Alistair's. "It is done," Duncan said. _Alive then, _she said. _Score one for me. Hooray._

Alistair helped her to her feet. "Did you have dreams?" he asked her. "I had terrible dreams, in my joining."

She shrugged, too angry with them both to answer. They gave her an amulet which she put on, the blood red vial resting between her breasts. It reminded her that she had changed. She didn't feel any different - apart from the crushing headache and the powerful urge to hit someone.

The king wanted to see her, Duncan said. She nodded. Duncan turned to go. Alistair stood for a minute longer. "You seem angry," he said.

She glared at him. "Wouldn't you be?" she said. "Duncan convinced me to join the grey wardens - I thought it would be a good idea, a way to get to Howe and revenge my family. My father trusted him. At no point did he tell me I risked death!"

Alistair looked a little sheepish at that. "We can't let people know that," he said. "Surely you understand why?"

She sniffed. "Well, yes," she said. "You wouldn't be able to recruit anyone if you told them they had a what...." she motioned towards the two corpses near them "two in three chance of dying?"

"We don't know that Jory..."

"Oh come on, Alistair."

He sighed. "I'm sorry," he said. "We need wardens at the moment. Ferelden has so few. And you were our best candidate."

"I also happen to be the last of the Couslands," she said then. "Duncan didn't take that into account when he dragged me all the way here." She studied him for a long moment. He looked upset, but also strangely elated. Perhaps he had been serious when he said she was their best candidate. "Would you have killed me?" she asked then. "Like Jory? If I'd refused the cup?"

He squirmed. "Were you going to refuse it?" he asked.

"I was seriously considering drawing on Duncan," she replied. "But I figured you wouldn't just stand back and let me kill him."

Alistair looked shocked, and a little frightened. "You wouldn't have been able to kill him," he said. "He's the commander of the grey - you don't get there by being easy to overcome." She raised her eyebrow at him. He took a deep breath. "And no, I wouldn't have just stood there and let you kill my commander," he continued. "I have a duty. And Duncan is my friend."

They glared at each other. He really was a very handsome man, she thought, incongruously. Finally she took pity on him. "Look, I'm sorry," she said. "I'll probably get over it. After all, I am still alive. There just better be some compensations for drinking that swill."

He smiled a little then. "You'd better not keep the king waiting," he said after a moment. "He might get sad. Or..."

"All right, I'm going."


	2. Chapter 2

Her dreams were full of the sound of battle, the driving rain, the screams of darkspawn. Imagination filled in the gaps - what she hadn't seen of the battle - the deaths of all those people, the end of their hopes. There was fire, and an ogre - she could see Alistair leaping for the beast's throat, the splatter of tainted blood hitting her face, the stench, oh maker, the stench of the blood....

She woke with a cry. "Ah, you are awake," a familiar voice drawled. She was completely disoriented. In a bed. Almost naked. She looked down at herself. At least she was clean.

"What happened? Where am I?"

"Hardly the most original phrases I've heard today," the voice continued. It was Morrigan.

"The battle, the darkspawn?"

"The man who was to answer your signal quit the field."

She felt her lips curl into a snarl. "Loghain," she whispered. "What about the other wardens?"

"Your friend and that... creature are outside."

"My friend? You mean Alistair?"

"The suspicious dimwitted one who was with you before, yes."

She got to her feet and looked for her clothes. "Is he all right?" she asked.

"He certainly hasn't lost the capacity to moan," Morrigan replied. She dressed quickly. "I'll go, then," she said. "Um... thank you, Morrigan, for saving us."

The witch looked nonplussed, but nodded in acknowledgement. Miranda pushed past her and went outside.

Alistair looked... broken. He was facing away from her when she emerged from the hut, and his shoulders were slumped. The sight of him, more than anything else, made her realise what they'd lost and she drew in her breath with a slight gasp.

He must have heard her because he spun around. "You.." he said. "You're alive! I felt sure you were dead..." His shoulders straightened a little and she was relieved to see some of the haggardness leave his face.

They discussed what they needed to do. Flemeth's advice was sound, and Alistair seemed galvanised by the suggestion that they travel to Redcliffe to see the Arl. When Flemeth suggested Morrigan accompany them, though, she thought they might have hit a wall.

Alistair's jaw dropped. _Templar _she thought again. Of course he doesn't want her with us. But she would be useful, Miranda couldn't deny it, and with an apologetic look at her fellow warden, she accepted Flemeth's request.

As they made their way through the wilds to Lothering she realised it wasn't just the presence of the old witch that had changed Alistair. The confidence he'd shown leading her and Jory and Daveth had disappeared. He no longer gave orders. He fought as effectively as always, if anything, he was more clinical and devastating in his attacks, but it was up to Miranda to direct Morrigan - up to her to scout ahead for enemies. There were few darkspawn about - most of them must have marched on Ostagar, and wild animals seemed unwilling to attack them, but they had a few encounters and she found she missed Alistair's sharp and pertinent commands. He fought silently, efficiently, but there was an absence about him.

_He's grieving, _she thought to herself. But a small part of her was angry. _Why haven't I had a chance to grieve?_

When they reached Lothering they were stopped by bandits. She lost patience and attacked them without even thinking. Morrigan laughed as she blasted the leader with a fire spell and it was only when they were surrounded by corpses and covered with gore did she realise what she'd done. These weren't darkspawn - they were men - and they weren't Howe's men, sent to kill her _kill poor little Orren _they were ordinary men driven desperate by circumstance. She looked down at the body of the bandit leader and was suddenly overcome with nausea.

Alistair ran to her side as she doubled over, retching, the contents of her stomach spilling onto the bloodstained ground. He held her shoulders as she heaved, over and over again, well past the point where there was nothing in her stomach.

She stayed like that, doubled over, long after she'd finished. Alistair didn't relax his grip on her and she found she didn't want to move, not while she had that one modicum of human comfort. It took willpower not to turn her face into his chest and sob.

"How touching," Morrigan said then. "The cream of the wardens, reduced to a retching girl and a mute boy. This blight will surely be stopped swiftly."

"Shut up, Morrigan," Alistair said through clenched teeth, his first words for maker knew how long. "You haven't lost what we have."

Miranda got to her feet. "We need to keep moving," she said briskly, wiping her mouth.

"Before we do," Alistair said, "we need to discuss where we're going."

"So you finally speak," Morrigan said. "Falling on your sword in grief was too much bother, I take it?"

"Is my being upset so difficult to understand?" Alistair replied angrily. "Have you never lost someone important to you? What would you do if your mother died?"

"Before or after I stopped laughing?"

"Right, very creepy."

Miranda stopped their bickering with a raised hand. "It's clear where we need to go," she said. "I've examined the treaties. I think Alistair's suggestion of Redcliffe first was a good one - the Arl is a reasonable man. After that? It really depends on what the Arl says." Alistair nodded and even Morrigan seemed satisfied. She heaved a sigh, though, as the question that ate at her she didn't have the heart to ask _why are you leaving this all to me?_ She knew why, really. And to be honest she was comfortable with it. Alistair was too wounded, he wasn't thinking straight. She had lost a lot, that was true, but it was personal - close. Although she was a warden she'd never felt a part of it the way he obviously had, to have them all gone must have been like being stripped suddenly naked in a room full of people. And the way he had talked about Duncan before Ishal - he must have thought of him as a father.

_We're both orphans now, _she thought to herself.

Lothering was small, and crushed, and miserable. The people huddled together like rats, waiting for death. She wanted to yell at them to get out of there - move - but half of them had already fled their homes - they were tired, they needed rest. She did what she could where she could, remembering times in Highever when her father had sent her out among the people, in the aftermath of a fever, during a drought. _They like to see we care for them, _he said to her. _It makes them feel secure. _Alistair was surprisingly helpful - something seemed to have loosened in him at the entrance to Lothering. Although he hadn't regained his confidence and still deferred to her, he was a steady presence at her side, and helping people seemed to make him feel better.

Meeting Leliana was something of an education for her. The red haired bard was definitely on the crazy side, but she was so lovely - not just to look at - that Miranda agreed to let her accompany them without really thinking. Morrigan's disgust was palpable by this stage, although she mellowed a little when Leliana convinced the revered mother to let Sten go. _We're building an army, _Miranda thought to herself. _One at a time._

She was somewhat surprised to find out that Eammon had raised Alistair. When she'd found him in the cage in Redcliffe she'd assumed he was the son of one of the soldiers, or a servant - not a ward of the Arl himself. And they'd never been introduced apart from that, which was also strange.

He explained a bit of it in camp that night. "I'm a bastard," he said, and his face flashed with a trace of the old humour, "and before you make any smart comments, I mean the fatherless kind. Arl Eammon took me in as a favour and raised me." The story unfolded and she found herself with her mouth open. Noblewomen could be so... manipulative. It wasn't Alistair's fault he'd been born a bastard in the Arl's service, why make life miserable for an innocent? She'd never liked Isolde - the Arl's wife - much, although she had been willing to think it was because she was Orlesian - her family had no real love for Orlais, many of its sons had been lost in the war - but to treat a child the way she had treated Alistair...

The conversation turned to Duncan and the wardens and the humour she had seen disappeared. They were sitting by the fire at this stage - Leliana and Sten and Morrigan had all retired, but she wasn't inclined to sleep just yet and Alistair seemed willing to talk.

"Do you want to talk about Duncan?" she said then.

He threw some sticks into the fire. "You don't have to do that," he said. "I know you didn't know him as well as I did."

"He was like a father to you," she said then. "I think I understand."

His face clouded with pain. She listened without really listening to his words, saying the right things, she hoped, at the right places. She found she was consumed by memories of her own family and it took control for her not to be swept up in Alistair's melancholy and give in to tears.

"Thank you for that," he said finally. "It was good to talk about it... with a friend." They were silent for a moment, staring into the flames.

"Duncan told me what Howe did to your family," he said then. She stiffened. "If you need to.." she stood up.

"Thanks," she said. "But.. I don't think I need to talk about that right now." She winced at the coldness in her tone, and the slightly hurt look on Alistair's face.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just thought.."

She forced herself to smile at him. "I know," she said. "And I appreciate it. Maybe later, I'll be ready to talk about it."

He nodded. "We should get some sleep," he said. She nodded and turned to go.

That night the dreams woke her. She was driven out of her tent and to the remnants of the fire, where she found Alistair in much the same position as she'd left him. "Dreams?" he said. She nodded.

"You'll learn to control them, eventually," he said. "You're hearing the darkspawn - the archdemon - it talks to the horde. Some of the older grey wardens say they can understand it but I sure don't. Any way, when I heard you thrashing about I thought I'd let you know."

"Thank you, Alistiar, I appreciate it."

"That's what I'm here for. To deliver witty one-liners and bad news." She grinned.

As they prepared to get moving she watched him. "Did you sleep at all?" she said finally, as he was dousing the remnants of the fire. He looked up at her and smiled, a ghost of his old smile. "A little," he said. "More than I have been, any way."

She put a hand on his arm in wordless comfort, and as an apology for her words the night before. She hoped he understood. She couldn't afford to say anything else and keep control.


	3. Chapter 3

THREE

They followed the Drakon river through the forests around Lothering towards Lake Calenhad. The river was fast flowing and sometimes difficult to follow, but it was the quickest route not on the direct road. She'd decided to avoid the main roads - they were crowded with refugees and bandits and she had no desire to tempt Loghain's men.

They were picking their way through a hilly region, heavily forested, when she approached Leliana.

"So," she said. "This vision of yours..."

"I knew this would come up sooner or later," the bard replied, sighing. "I had a dream.."

She found herself totally engrossed in Leliana's vision - it was beautiful, and a little creepy, to hear the Orlesian talking about abandoning her life because she thought the Maker had told her to. She also felt pressured, in an obscure way. It was a bit of a burden to be the focus of someone's religious fervour.

But Leliana herself was so... lovely about it that she felt flattered as well.

Alistair's voice came urgently from ahead of them "Darkspawn!" he shouted. Miranda whipped her sword and dagger out of their sheaths, but it was too late - Leliana gave a short, cut off cry and fell backwards towards the edge of the falls before she could draw her bow, an arrow protruding from her shoulder. Three genlocks charged Miranda and she was suddenly fighting for her life.

It was a quick battle once Alistair reached her. Morrigan and Sten were too far behind to help, but there were only three more genlocks to dispatch and Alistair managed two of them before she slit the throat of the third.

"Where is she?" Miranda asked Alistair suddenly. Leliana was nowhere to be seen.

Morrigan and Sten arrived - too late to help. She cursed herself. She had thought spreading the party out would help give them ample warning for these sorts of attacks - as it was she'd nearly gotten herself killed. Maker knows what had happened to Leliana.

A soft voice broke into her self-criticism. "Warden! I'm... I'm here." It was coming from the edge of the falls. She raced to the edge of the water and looked over. Leliana was pressed against the earth next to the falls - she'd caught herself on an outcrop, and although her left arm dangled uselessly by her side she seemed otherwise unharmed.

"Andraste's mercy," Miranda said. "Alistair can you reach her?" He nodded and leant down, offering the Orlesian his arm. She managed to grab hold of it and together they pulled her up from her perch.

"Thank the maker," Alistair breathed as she collapsed. The arrow still protruded from her shoulder and blood seeped from around the wound.

"Morrigan," Miranda ordered. "Can you do something about this?"

The witch nodded and came swiftly to the side of the Orlesian, deft fingers feeling around the wound.

"Warden," Leliana gasped then. "My pack. I'm afraid I dropped it."

Leliana's pack. Miranda cursed. "Well it's lost then," Alistair said. Miranda shook her head.

"We're at least five days from Redcliffe," Miranda said. "Leliana was carrying most of our health poultices. We need to find it."

"In all likelihood it's been washed down the river," Morrigan said, without looking up from tending Leliana's wound.

Miranda pursed her lips and sat back on her heels. "Sten, stay here and watch them. Alistair, come with me."

The two of them searched for a way down the falls. Eventually they found a circumspect route to the bottom that involved a bit of scrambling and a detour away from the edge of the water. They got to the bottom and made their way back to the falls.

They cascaded into a deep pool, surrounded by rocks. "Well," Alistair said then. "It didn't get washed away. But it might just as well have."

They could see the pack. It had fallen most of the way down the falls and caught between two rocks. There was no way to reach it short of swimming across the pool and climbing.

Miranda started stripping off her armour. "Get yours off too," she ordered. Alistair's jaw dropped and he flushed. "What?"

"You heard me. Lose the armour. I can climb up there but I'll need someone to steady me. You _can _swim, can't you?"

He clamped his mouth shut and nodded.

"We need those supplies, Alistair. And if you dive in there wearing splint you'll sink straight to the bottom." He blinked.

"What about you?" he said.

"Leather shrinks when it gets wet," she said irritably. "And I don't have time to sit around camp oiling it for two days. Will you hurry up? Leliana might need those poultices."

He nodded, and somewhat awkwardly started to remove his splintmail.

It wasn't a warm day and she wasn't looking forward to diving into the water - she knew from experience that it would be icy. Her undershirt and breeches could stay on, she decided. Although she would have preferred to remove them - swimming in clothes was more difficult - she thought Alistair might have apoplexy if she stripped naked. He was standing in his shirt and underclothes looking at the water with a somewhat desperate expression on his face.

"It's going to be cold, isn't it," he said to her. "Really, really cold."

She flashed a smile at him and dived. It was like being slapped in the face. With ice. She came up and looked back at Alistair on the shore. "Come on in," she said, and she was proud she managed to control the chattering of her teeth.

"Well, I'll never hear the end of it if I don't," he muttered. He dived - surprisingly gracefully.

"Andraste's flaming sword!" he cursed as he broke the surface. "That's.. very cold."

They swam swiftly to the falls. Underneath there was a ledge that was relatively easy to climb up, but she would definitely need Alistair to lift her the first few feet up the rocks behind the falls - the rocks were drenched and slippery and there were very few holds.

They both climbed the ledge, the roar of the falls beating in their ears. "Are you sure you can do this?" Alistair shouted at her, teeth chattering. He was studiously avoiding looking at anything but her face, she realised. She almost grinned, then was suddenly aware that he was as wet as she - and his shirt was clinging to him in ways armour never managed. _All things considered, it probably would have been better if he'd taken it off,_ she thought. A sudden image came to mind and she swallowed and looked back up at his face. _Maybe not._ "Yes," she said firmly. "There are lots of falls around Highever. I've done this before."

"I won't ask why," he said, smiling a little.

"I'll need you to lift me," she said then. He nodded. She turned to the rocks and he moved up behind her. _Sweet Andraste, _she thought, as she felt his breath on the back of her neck. _How on earth could he be hot after being in that water?_ He grasped her waist with his hands and braced himself against a rock before lifting her up. She scrambled upwards, trying not to think about how warm his hands were on her wet skin. Her bare feet discovered two crevices and she managed to take her weight on them and her hands. Alistair's hands still supported her weight and she had to shout down at him to let her go. He did so and stood with his arms around his chest, trying to keep warm as she climbed.

It was just as difficult as she'd expected. The rocks were mostly wet and some of them were unstable. Luckily she didn't have too far to climb. She did slip at one point and Alistair cried out in alarm, but her experience in Highever helped enormously and she didn't panic - just found her footing again and continued up. She got within a foot of the bag and reached up with one hand. The pack was only just caught and it didn't take much to work it loose. She nearly fell then, when the weight of the pack hit her arm, but she managed to keep her balance as she lowered it towards Alistair. He reached up and took the weight from her, placing the pack on the ledge next to him.

She sighed and started back down. Alistair waited at the bottom, arms outstretched to catch her if she slipped. She didn't slip, but dropped into his arms at the bottom of the climb. He let her slide down through his arms until her feet were firmly on the ledge. His arms were around her chest, then, just below her breasts and the firm expanse of his chest was pressed into her back - as was....

_Maker! _His arms dropped suddenly and he stepped backwards hastily, not remembering that he was on the edge of a deep pool of water. She spun round as he fell backwards, and couldn't stop herself from laughing. He came up a few seconds later, treading water and spluttering, saw her expression, and broke into laughter of his own.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I shouldn't laugh. It must be cold in there."

He nodded. "A good thing too," he said, then blushed. "You'd better pass me the pack, I'll swim it over."

She handed it to him. He rested it on his chest and kicked back towards the edge of the pool. She dived in and followed.

They gathered their armour and made their awkward, damp and shivering way back up to the top of the falls, where Morrigan gave them a disgusted look.

"And just what have you two been doing?" she said. Alistair dumped the pack at her feet.

"Saving our supplies," he said shortly. His teeth were chattering again and Miranda hastened to her pack to get her spare clothes.

"How is she?" Alistair asked as he searched through his own pack.

"She is fine," Leliana answered for herself, her light, musical voice sounding amused. "Although I must admit to being a little disappointed I missed out on your swim."

Miranda ducked behind some trees to change her clothes, as did Alistiar. They both emerged a few minutes later, still shivering.

"You know," Leliana said then. "I've heard the best way to warm up after being chilled is to get into a bedroll with someone else. Naked."

Alistair blushed again and Miranda cocked an eyebrow. "Weren't you a chantry sister?" she said.

The Orlesian grinned. "Not always," she said.

Miranda snorted, and started strapping on her armour again. "We'll camp here for the night," she said.

"Where did you learn to swim?" Miranda asked Alistair as they ate what passed for a stew that night. She would have to find ways for Alistair to avoid cooking duty. He was truly terrible at it.

"The chantry," he said. "The sisters believed cold water was good for the soul." He laughed a little then. "Or at least, good for the smell - it's quite hard to get a group of small boys to take a bath. But throw them in a river and they'll happily splash around until they're clean. What about you?"

Her grin faded. "My mother taught me," she said. "She taught me how to climb as well." She absent mindedly played with the hilt of her dagger.

"And fight?"

She smiled at him. "Partly. My mother wasn't much for my style of combat. She was far more adept with a mace than a sword or dagger."

"So who taught you?"

She sat for a moment, lost in memories. "A man from Antiva," she said then. "He was a prisoner from the war with Orlais. My father had him brought back from the front when he agreed to pledge service to him - he'd been serving the Orlesians for many years by that stage, but I suppose there was something about my father that attracted him. He was over fifty when he started training me. My mother was so angry when she found out what he'd been teaching me! She had my whole future planned out - you see."

"I think I know that feeling."

"Fergus is seven years older than I am," she continued. "Mother and father weren't sure they'd ever have another child. When I came along she was so happy - a daughter! Someone to dress up and take to balls, talk about ribbons and shoes.."

Alistair's lip twitched. "I'm guessing you were something of a disappointment in that department."

"Oh, I tried," she said. "I wore the dresses and danced the dances. I even flirted with the noblemen occasionally. But the two betrothals she arranged for me fell through and suddenly I was twenty and unmarried and better at picking locks and stabbing people than being tactful and courtly."

He laughed. "Well, if it's worth anything, I think you'd look lovely in a dress." She smiled at the compliment, taken off guard by his tone.

"Maybe sometime you'll see me in one," she said, standing and taking his bowl.


	4. Chapter 4

FOUR

The rest of the journey to Redcliffe passed without incident, although every now and then she caught Alistair looking at her with an odd expression on his face. At camp of an evening she spent a good deal of time talking to Leliana who had a store of tales to tell - being a bard. One night when Leliana retired early she found herself in Morrigan's company and she found the witch surprisingly willing to talk about her life in the wilds. Miranda was fascinated - it was so different from her own life at Highever. The occasional trips to Denerim and Redcliffe had not prepared her for the life they were leading now and she found herself turning to the witch for advice about living in the open.

When talk turned to her mother, however, Morrigan was less willing to go into details. Her stories centred around the legends of Flemeth and told Miranda nothing about their relationship. When she attempted to probe deeper she was met with complete resistance and sometimes outright hostility.

The two wardens were usually the last to go to sleep, so she nearly always ended up by the fire with Alistair. They didn't always talk - he was good at silence at that time of night, and she found his solid presence a comfort. He was the most familiar thing in her world - the only person who'd been with her through the horror of Ostagar, the only one who had any connection with her life before she'd become a warden.

The closer he got to Redcliffe, however, the more anxious he seemed. She thought it was just because he was worried about the Arl, but as they approached the village he took her aside.

"Look," he said. "There's something I need to tell you, before we... see the Arl. You remember how I told you that I was a bastard, that my mother was a serving girl at Redcliffe and the Arl took me in? Well, he did that because my father... was King Maric."

She didn't know how she'd managed to miss the resemblance. Maybe it was because his manner was so different to his brother's - not surprisingly. Their upbringing would have been worlds apart. She wasn't offended that he hadn't told her - she had spent her life being pigeon holed and knew why he didn't want others to do the same thing. But she did think he was being shortsighted if he thought he wouldn't be put forward as an heir. Something told her it wasn't the best time to bring that up, though.

She pursed her lips at him. "Well, I'm not going to call you your highness." He sighed in relief. "Not often, any way. I would have liked to have known sooner, but I know why you didn't want me to."

"You know?" he looked surprised.

"It's not easy being born into a position with expectations," she said. "I know how you feel. You either accept it and be who they want, or fight it." She smiled at him. "I prefer to fight it."

"I would have thought you'd be angry," he said crossing his arms and looking down towards the village. "Most people are angry when they find out."

"Is that why you've been giving me guilty looks ever since the waterfall?"

"Part of the reason, yes."

"Mmm. And I thought that was just because you felt bad about ogling me in a wet shirt."

He let out a sudden burst of laughter. "That's the other reason," he said. "Although I wouldn't say I felt _bad_ about that.. exactly.." She suddenly remembered what it felt like to have his arms wrapped around her and drew in her breath sharply.

"Anything else you're keeping from me?" she said then, lightly, hoping he hadn't noticed her distraction.

"Apart from an unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair, no, that's it."

"Shall we go then?" she said. "I have an urge to meet up with Isolde again. And possibly punch her for you."

"Would you do that?" he said, smiling.

"Only because you look good in a wet shirt."

Their laughter was short lived. They made their way down to the chantry after Thomas had found them on the bridge and told them about the situation - the dead were walking. She felt totally out of her depth - darkspawn she was beginning to cope with, but this was something else entirely. Some sort of magic, she reasoned, although what could make the dead walk was beyond her.

"A tear in the veil," Morrigan said to her as they walked down past the mill towards the chantry. "Someone has been working magic here - carelessly. A tear in the veil, or an abomination, can cause the dead to walk."

She had heard of abominations, but part of her had thought they were just a horror story Fergus had made up to scare his little sister. "Are these people lost then?" Miranda asked her. "Surely there's something that could be done!"

"I recommend telling this Teagan to evacuate the village," Morrigan said. "I don't know why they are making this pointless stand."

Miranda knew why, but she didn't think Morrigan would see the situation the same way. "We need the Arl," she said to the apostate mage. "We need to help these people and get inside the castle."

Morrigan sighed her usual deep sigh. "I suppose you are correct," she said. "Although I find it somewhat pathetic that they would cling to their homes so."

Teagan was a reasonable man and she'd met him before, but she could see he was nearly crushed under the weight of command and desperate for any help or input.

"How many nights has this been happening?" she asked him.

"Only two. But we won't be able to hold out for longer than tonight. Our supplies are dwindling - we have no more weapons or armour. And every night we lose more people."

"Why don't you evacuate?" she asked then.

"We tried, but they attack whoever leaves. Please, my lady, if there's anything..."

She nodded briskly. They set to work.

That night was the hardest since Ostagar. The waves and waves of hideous ghouls. She drew, and released, and drew and released. Her dagger was bloodied more times than she could count.

Alistair fought beside her. They'd worked a system for melee combat now, the five of them and Hugo. Morrigan and Leliana stayed well back. Hugo and Sten waded into the fray immediately and Alistair and Miranda formed a knot in the middle. His bulkier form shadowed her slight one and his shield could often protect the two of them from arrows. She found she was adapting her style to suit his, dancing in when he incapacitated an enemy and making the kill before they could recover, flitting back into the protective cover of his longer sword and ready shield, ready to slip out again when the opportunity arose.

Twice she saved him from well aimed daggers. Three times he stopped her from being overwhelmed by larger opponents. She felt part of a team - a well oiled one as she felt bolstered by Morrigan's spells and confident that the Qunari and her hound were just as efficient a team as she and Alistair.

But by the end of the night she was tired - so very tired, that it was all she could do to wash the blood from her exposed skin before collapsing. They were all housed in the chantry, in a room at the back. No one wanted to sleep in the empty houses surrounding them, not even Morrigan with her usual love of privacy took up the offer of a room of her own. Instead they rolled out their bedrolls on the floor and slept next to each other, taking comfort in human company after so much destruction.

When she woke it was well into mid-morning. Alistair was in his bedroll next to her on one side, and she lay there for a moment, studying his face in repose. He did look like Cailan, she realised, although there was none of Cailan's arrogance in the lines of his face. She wondered what Maric had thought of his other son. Why hadn't he been taken into the line of succession?

The former templar's eyes opened and met hers. He smiled with such warmth that she found herself blushing. "Well," he said, yawning a little. "That's a nice way to wake up."

She sat up, her lips twitching. They were still filthy from the fight the night before and she suddenly wanted more than anything to wash.

In the chantry outside she found Teagan and the other survivors. He directed her to the washroom of an empty house and she managed to clean herself up sufficiently to feel human again.

She took Morrigan, Alistair and Leliana with her up to talk to Teagan about getting into the castle. She was determined to find a way in and the big Qunari and Hugo were not good at stealth. Even Alistair was a bit of a gamble, but she found she didn't want to do without his shield arm - she was too used to fighting with him. And she needed him for other reasons as well. Although she felt confident in her ability to command - had been reveling in it to a certain extent - the thought of not having him by her side made her breath come short and a kind of panic settle in her chest. She would need a shield arm, she told herself.

Teagan looked troubled when they met him up by the mill. When he explained about the secret entrance she felt Alistair stiffen next to her. They could have gotten into the castle yesterday - possibly found out what was causing the onslaught and stopped it. She was angry with Teagan and didn't bother to hide it.

There was a cry from behind her and she turned to see a woman running towards them.

"Teagan!" she cried as she came to a halt.

"Isolde!"

Miranda was predisposed to hate the woman, and she didn't do much to belay the urge as she spoke with Teagan. Her disdainful look at Alistair had her hands twitching to draw steel. She shot Alistair a look but he smiled very slightly at her and shook his head. To be honest, hitting the woman in her current state would have felt wrong. She was haggard and desperate, her once clear, beautiful eyes clouded and shadowed. And she was hiding something. Miranda had been at court amongst intrigue often enough to know when a person was lying, and it was obvious to her that Isolde was holding something back - something very important.

"Teagan, don't go with her," she said. But the man was obviously not going to listen. He handed her the key to the entrance before he left, but her heart sank. She didn't think she'd ever see him alive again.

Inside the castle was better than the night before had been. They knew what to expect this time, and they had ways of dealing with it. Ghouls and skeletons were just another enemy. _I wonder if Duncan was anything like Alistair before he became a warden, _she thought to herself. _Maybe it's what we see that make us into people like him. _

The blood mage, though, he was a problem. She left him locked up. Morrigan wanted to let the man go, but she wasn't comfortable with that, not after the tales of blood mages she'd heard, and not with Alistair glaring at the man the way he did. She suspected he would try to kill him if he was free in any case, just for being a pawn of Loghain's - completely aside from the fact that he had poisoned the closest thing he had to a father.

He was lucky she didn't kill him herself, when she thought about it.

When they reached Teagan, however, she started to feel uncertain again. Isolde was there, with a boy. Teagan was dancing like a clown in front of them, doing acrobatic tricks, grinning like a fool. The man had never done anything foolish in his life before.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Her insides twisted when she heard the boy talk. An abomination - as Morrigan had warned. It needed to be killed. She had her hand on her dagger before he'd finished the first sentence, but Alistair pulled her back. "He's a _boy,_" he hissed to her. She thought suddenly of Orren - a few years younger than this Connor and dead. Because of Howe.

When he ran, and they had to fight, she felt torn apart. Her sword sank into Teagan's side and she winced as though the pain was her own - she knew this man - he was a friend to her family, he was part of her past. But he was being controlled against his will. She kicked him off the blade and knocked him out with the pummel of her dagger. The others had dispatched the ghouls and skeletons.

Isolde rushed to Teagan's side as the Bann started to stir. She watched the woman with contempt. This was the reason Redcliffe had been ravaged. The boy was blameless _and I'm going to have to kill him because of you._

Alistair saw her expression and his face fell. "Miranda," he said softly as Isolde attended to Teagan, "there must be another way." He very rarely called her by her name, she realised. It sounded different on his lips. Softer.

"The only way I know of to be rid of an abomination without killing it is to enter the fade," Morrigan said.

"We don't have the mages, or the lyrium to do that," Alistair said. "The circle does though."

"Blood magic can do it," the swamp witch said.

Teagan looked at them. "What about the mage - Jowan?" he said. "He might be able to help us. He owes us, after what he did."

_After what Isolde did, you mean, _Miranda thought.

The blood mage was called up before them. Indeed, they could enter the fade and stop the demon from possessing the boy, but it would cost a human life.

Alistair took her arm and pulled her away from them. "Miranda," he said. "We can go to the circle and ask them for help. It's not far from here - they are obliged to help us through the treaties."

"I don't think the treaties cover this, Alistair," she said. "They're for aid against the blight. This is not a blight. And what happens to the people of Redcliffe while we traipse to the circle and back? It's a four day round trip. They'd be dead by then."

"We've destroyed all of the ghouls," he said. "The people can evacuate - I'm sure they will after last night. Please," he said, "please don't do this."

"Why do you care what she does?" she asked him angrily. "She abandoned you. She made your life a misery. Now she wants to do one good thing for her son and you think she's redeemed herself?"

"There's nothing good about blood magic," he said, matching her anger.

"That's the templar in you talking."

"Maybe it is," he was almost snarling at her now. "But I know that sacrificing one life for another is wrong."

She glared at him for a moment, before wilting a little. "You want to risk the village, the surrounding farms? We're not that far from other villages - what if Connor decides to leave the castle? I don't want to do this, Alistair, but I don't see any choice in the matter." There was a long pause. His usually clear hazel eyes were clouded with pain and conflict.

"He'll never forgive me," Alistair said finally, in a small voice.

_Eamon. _Her heart twisted for him - her companion - her warden. If she made this decision he would blame himself for the rest of his life. Just like he blamed himself for being sent to the chantry, for not impressing Isolde enough to make her like him. She knew better. "Oh, Alistair," she said, cupping his cheek with her hand. "It would be my decision, not yours. You don't have to blame yourself for this."

He took her hand from his cheek and into his own. "I don't want you to make this choice either," he said then. His fingers traced patterns her palm unconsciously. "You can't tell me it wouldn't affect you the same way. I know you know this is wrong."

_Whatever it takes, _she thought to herself. _Isn't that what you told me? Wardens do whatever it takes to succeed. _But he was right - if she made this decision she would lose something of herself - the woman who cared for the people of Highever, who helped the villagers of Lothering - she would be gone. Replaced with something hard, unyielding. Part of her wanted that - wanted the feeling of invulnerability that would give her. She would be driven purely by revenge - she would seek out Howe and rip him to shreds - kill Loghain - destroy the archdemon, unite Ferelden.

She could feel Alistair's hand on hers - the warmth of his touch - _that _would be gone as well.

_It wasn't worth it. _

Something snapped in her and she nodded. "We'll go to the circle, then," she said. "But maker, Alistair, I hope Connor can be contained until then. If more people die because of what we do here..."

"I know," he said. "I'll take the blame."

She smiled sadly at him. "You don't have to," she said. "No one told me I had to listen to your advice."

The trip to the circle was tense and fast. They made good time - only stopping for rest when it was absolutely necessary. Alistair was driven, determined to get there and back before Connor could do any more damage.

When they arrived at the circle, however, they found chaos. Abominations - she'd been worried about ONE of them in Redcliffe. Here there were hundreds.

"They'll try to use the right of anullment," Alistair told her. "If they do that every mage left alive in there will be killed."

She was horrified. And desperate. Not only did they need the mages for Connor, but confronting the archdemon without magical assistance - well she didn't like their chances.

Gregior was reluctant to let them in, but surprisingly Alistair convinced him. Perhaps it was because he knew how the templar's mind worked - although Gregor showed no signs of recognising the younger man.

They took Morrigan with them.

In the antechamber they met up with some of the survivors. "Thank the maker," Miranda said to Wynne, the eldest and most powerful of them. "We weren't sure any of you were left alive."

Wynne was an alert, white haired woman who exuded confidence and power. When she offered to come with them Miranda agreed immediately - more magical help would be greatly appreciated in their current situation.

The climb of the tower began.

In many ways it was worse than Redcliffe, because part of her knew that the things she was killing used to be mages. The blood mages she had no compunction about killing this time - to have destroyed so much - the looks on Alistair and Wynne's faces made her realise she couldn't truly comprehend how much that was - it was not justified. No matter how confined they felt - the templars did not deserve this.

They continued upwards... until.....

She was sparring with Orren - he'd grown a lot in the last year and was able to hold his own against her for a short time.

"Auntie, you've left your side wide open!" he cried, letting his sword point drop.

She laughed. "I did that deliberately," she said, stepping forward and ruffling his hair. "I'm glad you noticed." There was a shout from behind her and she took her hand from Orren's hair.

_Her hand was covered in blood..._

"Sister!" Fergus' voice called. "Our father wants to see you."

"What does he want now?" she said.

"There's a delegation from Denerim here," he said.

"Oh, the marriage arrangements," she said. "Well, can't keep them waiting."

_Fergus' outline blurred and he faded from view._

Highever was crowded with servants and she greeted them as she passed. The demesne was flourishing since the end of the blight. Her mother and father were both waiting in the audience chamber with two others - a young man and an older one.

Arl Eamon smiled at her. "My dear Miranda," he said. "I'd like to introduce you to my foster son, Alistair,"

The younger man turned and the hazel eyes lit up as they met hers.

"Alistair is Cailan's brother," her mother was saying. "King Maric has recently acknowledged him and taken him into the line of succession, my dear."

A prince? Her mother had said there was something different about this suitor. Princess Miranda. She liked the sound of that.

Her mind was screaming at her.

_No. No this is not right. Where is his armour? _She looked at her father and saw suddenly that he was wounded - covered in blood.. _lying on the floor of the cellar, desperate for her to escape..._

She was suddenly angry. "You're not Alistair!" She shouted. The scene dissolved.

This time she was more prepared. She knew Duncan was dead. She knew the blight was still a threat. When the older warden attacked her she killed him without a second thought.

_This is the fade, _she thought. _Oh maker, what do I do now?_

What she did was fight it. They killed the sloth demon. They killed Uldred. When the first enchanter agreed to help them she felt like she'd climbed a mountain. _It can be done, _she thought to herself. _Anything can be done._


	5. Chapter 5

FIVE

Connor was saved. Morrigan went into the fade for her. She was surprised the witch agreed, but since giving her Flemeth's grimoire the witch had been more friendly towards Miranda. Given Morrigan's acute perception in the fade - she had been the only one save Miranda herself with any awareness of what the Sloth demon was trying to do to them at the Tower, she figured she would be the best choice, and she was right. Connor was restored remarkably quickly. Isolde was grateful, Teagan looked as though he might kiss her (she backed away quickly - the man had tried that before with her at Highever) and Alistair looked far more happy than he should have.

That night she drank too much ale.

It was late. She and Alistair and Teagan were the only ones still drinking. She'd never been one to drink before, but this time she felt justified. It had been a hellish couple of days.

Teagan left them to relieve a call of nature and she found herself thinking of an earlier conversation. "If you were raised in the chantry..." she said, slightly slurring "does that mean you've never..."

He looked at her, cocking an eyebrow. "Never what? Had a good pair of shoes?"

She waved her tankard. "You know what I mean."

He frowned. "I'm not sure I do," he replied. "Have I never seen a basilisk? Ate jellied ham? Have I never licked a lamppost in winter?"

She pouted. "Now you're making fun of me."

"Make fun of you dear lady? Perish the thought. Well, tell me...." he leaned forward until his face was close to hers. "have you ever licked a lamppost in winter?"

She blushed. "No. I've never licked a lamppost in winter."

"Good. I've heard it's quite painful. I remember one of the younger initiates tried it once and there were tears... and recriminations...." he stared into his tankard for a moment, seeming quite melancholy. "I myself have also never done... it. Not that I haven't thought about it. But... you know."

"You never had the opportunity?"

"Being raised in the chantry isn't exactly the life for rambunctious boys. I guess I was brought up to be a gentleman about this sort of thing." He eyed her with what was probably supposed to be a leer. "Especially in the presence of beautiful women such as yourself."

Heat rushed to her face, and her stomach. She was suddenly far more sober than she should be. "You think I'm beautiful?" she asked in a small voice.

"Of course you are, and you know it! You're beautiful... ravishing... resourceful.." he waved his tankard, spilling some ale... "and... and all those other things you'd probably hurt me for not saying."

"I would never hurt you."

He stopped and looked at her. "Nor I you," he said.

Teagan chose that moment to come back inside and they resumed drinking.

The made for Denerim, after a late start and a cold bath. Alistair found her as they walked. "Last night," he said hesitantly. "Did I really tell you I was...um..."

She laughed, then winced at the pain in her head. "You told me something about lampposts," she said.

"Maker, I was drunk," he said, rubbing his hair.

"You also told me I was beautiful," she said.

"Oh.... I did?"

"So were you lying?"

"About the lamppost thing?" She grinned at him. "I... no. Not about any of it."

She stopped walking and let the rest of the party overtake them. "Has anyone ever told you how handsome _you _are?" she said then.

"Not unless they were asking me for a favour. Well there was that one time in Denerim... but those women were... not like you." He stopped and smiled suddenly. "Why, is this your way of telling me _you _think I'm handsome?"

"And if it is? What then?"

"Oh, nothing much. I just get to grin a bit and look foolish for a while."

He did.

They were just on the outskirts of the Brescilian forest on a deserted section of road when they were ambushed by assassins.

She felt the pressure before the pain. A hard thunk in her leg - a leg that suddenly wouldn't support her weight. She collapsed, confused. She heard Alistair's shout and the beginnings of the fight, but it was far away from her - as though she was sleeping in the next room. Sleeping - that would be nice. Her eyes closed.

Someone was shaking her, frantically, calling her name. "Wynne, she's bleeding, I need you. Maker's breath, hurry up, please! Miranda? Miranda can you hear me?"

"Alistair?" she said. "Is that you?"

"You're awake. Sweet Andraste - Wynne will you hurry up!"

There was a warmth, then, in her leg and then pain - sharp and deep and unbearable. "Oh, OW," she said, her eyes opening to see Alistair's frantic face above her. He had both her hands in his - gripped almost painfully tightly. "What happened. My leg - it hurts."

"You were hit by an arrow," Wynne's soft, measured tones came to her. "It's all right, I've removed it, and it's not poisoned. But you need to keep still."

The warmth and the pain both increased. She arched her back and let out a cry. "What are you doing?" Alistair's voice was harsh. "You're hurting her."

"Calm down, Alistiar," Morrigan's voice was as sardonic as always. "You're making things worse. Wynne knows what needs to be done."

He glared in the direction of the voice. The warmth increased and she suddenly felt drowsy. "Don't worry, my warden," she said as she drifted away again. "I feel lovely."

When she woke again it was dark. They were camped in a small natural canyon - a perfect place for an ambush, she thought to herself - then remembered that was exactly what had happened. She sat up suddenly and winced at the pain in her leg.

"Miranda!" Alistair's voice came from near the fire. He hurried towards her "Wynne, she's awake again."

The white haired mage appeared beside her. "How are you feeling?" she said.

Miranda blinked drowsily. "Sleepy," she said. "And a little bit sore. But otherwise, surprisingly well."

"The wound is closed," Wynne said. "But there was some tearing to the muscle. You're going to have to take it easy for a few days. I'll continue the spells to knit the muscle, but no running or stabbing things."

Miranda pursed her lips. "Well, we'll just have to arrange not to get ambushed again," she said.

"We should probably stay camped for a couple of days," Alistair said.

She chafed at the delay. "Who ambushed us?" she said.

"Ah," Alistair said. "I was wondering if you'd ask that. We managed to take a prisoner."

"Let me see him."

The man tied up by the fire was an elf - delicately handsome in the way of his kind, with a resigned expression on his face. She recognised the tattoo and gasped.

Leliana was watching him and she looked up at her gasp and nodded. "So you recognise it?" the bard said.

She'd seen the tattoo on one other man before. "A crow," she said.

The elf raised an eyebrow. "You know I'm a crow?" he said, his voice deep and lilting.

"I've heard of them," she said shortly. "Who hired you?"

The story spilled out of him. Loghain.

"Why am I not surprised?" Alistair said, frowning.

"If that is all you wanted to know, may I make you an offer?" the elf was surprisingly sanguine for someone who was tied up in front of a fire with several well armed people around him.

"You tried to kill me!" she said.

"And failed," he pointed out.

They spoke. She found herself enjoying the elf's quips - although he made her blush a couple of times. He reminded her so much of Hubert that when he finally offered to join them, she said yes almost immediately.

Alistair objected straight away. "He nearly killed you!" he said. "You can't be seriously considering taking him with us?"

She looked at Alistair for a moment, then jerked her head for him to follow her out of earshot.

"Remember I told you about the man who taught me?" she said to him. He nodded shortly. "Well, he was a crow too. They have their own sense of honour. He may betray us, but not as long as I uphold my end of the bargain."

"And since your end of the bargain just seems to be keeping him alive... and possibly letting him 'warm your bed'..."

"Hey, I never said he could do that," she said. "Is that why you don't want him with us?"

Alistair pouted. "Of course not. What you do with him is entirely your business."

She made a show of considering the elf. "Well, he _is _very handsome."

Alistair huffed.

She laughed then. "Don't be stupid," she said. "I'm not that in love with danger that I'd invite a crow into my tent. He'll be useful."

"If you say so."

She took his chin in her hand and turned his face to hers. "I won't let him kill me," she said. "Or bed me." His lips twitched.

"All right then," he said. "But if there was a sign we were desperate I think it just knocked on the door and said hello."

Two days in camp were a welcome relief. Zevran had sustained a few injuries of his own, and the rest of the party had been pushed so hard on their journey to the tower and back that they all needed rest.

The canyon was a perfect place to camp, as well. There was a stream nearby and it was well protected. Her leg was sore, but she could walk, and she was impressed by Wynne's healing magic.

She was washing some clothes in the stream near sunset on the first evening when Alistair found her. "Um..." he said. She looked up. One of his hands was behind his back and he suddenly thrust it forward to her. She looked down at what it held and found herself colouring. "Here," he said. "Do you know what this is?"

The way he was holding it - as though he was about to attack her with it - made her reply fall out before she thought. "Your new weapon of choice?"

He laughed. "Yes! Watch as I destroy our enemies with the mighty power of floral arrangements! Feel my thorns, darkspawn, tremble as I overcome you with my rosey scent..." he trailed off, his own face colouring. "Or, you know, it could just be a rose."

She took it from him then, gently, and got to her feet. "Sentiment can be a pretty powerful weapon," she said.

"Is it that easy to see right through me?" She smiled at him.

"I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking how can something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness.... I probably should have left it alone but I couldn't. The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it. So I've had it ever since."

"What do you plan on doing with it?" she asked.

"I thought I might give it to you, actually," he said. "In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you."

Her heart turned over in her chest. She wanted, more than anything, for him to kiss her. But he stood there for a few moments, smiling down at her.

"I.. thank you Alistair, that's a lovely thought."

"I'm glad you like it. I was just thinking... here I am doing all this complaining and you haven't exactly had an easy time of it yourself. You've had none of the good experience of being a grey warden - not a word of thanks or congratulations. It's all been death, and fighting and tragedy. I thought.. maybe I could say something, tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are amidst all this... darkness."

"So... are we married now?"

"Haha, you won't land me that easily woman. I know I'm quite the prize after all. No need to start crying on me or anything. I guess it was..just a stupid impulse. I don't know... was it the wrong one?"

She grinned at him. "Not at all."

"I'm glad you like it. if we could move right on past this awkward, embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits I'd appreciate it."

She laughed and he grinned at her and turned to go.

"Wait, Alistair," she said. "I..."

He turned back and stood looking at her. "Steamy bits?" he said after a second's awkward silence.

She laughed again, twirling the rose between her fingers. "Thank you," she said finally. "You've been so good to me. I don't think I would have been able to get through this without you."

He smiled then and leaned down. She thought he was going to kiss her, then, but he gently pressed his lips to her forehead and left.

"Maker," she cursed when he was out of earshot. "He really is a virgin."


	6. Chapter 6

SIX

Three nights later he relieved her on watch again. Earlier that day she'd seen him talking to Leliana but when she approached them they both fell silent and Alistair blushed furiously. She was gripped by irrational fury. The Orlesian bard was poised, elegant, experienced and beautiful. Of course Alistair fancied her. No wonder he'd been so worried by the falls.

She spent the rest of the day growling at everyone and anything. On watch she was glowering into the gloom when she felt his hand on her shoulder. She spun round, drawing her dagger and he stepped back in alarm.

"Woah!" he said. "I'm here to relieve you. Not be stabbed."

She sighed. "I'm sorry," she said, and sheathed the weapon. "Not thinking very clearly at the moment."

"I noticed," he said. "You've been edgy all day. Anything in particular wrong?"

She shook her head and turned towards the fire.

"Miranda," he said. "I wanted to ask you something.."

She turned and cocked an eyebrow at him. "Yes?"

"So.. all this time we've spent together - the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole blight looming over us... will you miss it, once it's over?"

"It makes me tear up just thinking about it," she said shortly.

He laughed nervously. "There'll be no more running for our lives, no more darkspawn. No more camping in the middle of nowhere. I know it might sound strange, considering we haven't known each other very long, but I've...."

There was a pause as he looked down at his hands. "I've come to care for you. A great deal. I think.. maybe it's because we've gone through so much together. I don't know. Or maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe I'm fooling myself...."

She didn't know when her heart had started trying to escape her chest, but she felt sure it was going to any moment.

"Am I? Fooling myself? Or do you think you might... ever.. feel the same way about me?"

She opened her mouth to reply and found no words would come. He shifted from one leg to the other, seemingly unable to meet her gaze. She found herself smiling.

"I think I already do," she said then.

His grin was the old grin - the one she'd seen first in Ostagar, and she felt her breath catch. He glowed. "So I fooled you, did I?" he said, and his voice was deeper than normal - it travelled down her back and made her tingle. His face was inches from hers, she could feel his breath on her cheek. "Good to know," he breathed then, and she closed her eyes as his lips touched hers.

She'd been kissed before, but never been a willing participant. The friends of Fergus who had thought it would be funny had soon paid the price. But this time she felt the firm brush of his lips and she melted. She leaned forward, her arms coming around him, armour and all. His arms came up behind her and moved on her back, and his lips parted, and suddenly there was a lot more to it than simply a touch of lips on lips. Maker, she'd never thought - never imagined something could feel this way - she never wanted it to end.

When they broke apart they were both gasping as though they'd fought a full battle. "That was..." he said... and had to catch his breath again. He looked down at her, still encircled in his arms. "That wasn't too soon, was it?" he asked.

"No," she said. "Very definitely not too soon."

He grinned. "Good. I'll take that as a good sign." She reached up an arm and pulled his head back down to hers.

A few minutes later they broke apart again. She rested her head on his metal covered chest and closed her eyes. She'd never felt so safe, so cared for. His hand came up and stroked her hair. "Maker's breath, but you're beautiful," he breathed. "I am a lucky man."

She traced his face with her fingers. He closed his eyes, smiling. "So what was eating at you today?" he asked after a while. "You were so grumpy!"

Her fingers stopped their movements and she blushed. "Oh.. that.. was.. nothing important.."

"Come on, spill it!"

"Well.. I uh.. saw you talking to Leliana earlier. I thought maybe you were...."

His eyes widened. "With Leliana?" he squeaked.

She nodded sheepishly.

"Oh, well.. that's... not that she's not a beautiful woman but... really..."

"So what were you talking about?"

It was his turn to blush. "She ambushed me," he said then. "Told me I was being an idiot. That I needed to tell you how I felt, or you'd find someone else. I think the implication was that _she'd _make a move on you, actually. Or Zevran. I'm surprised Zevran hasn't already."

Miranda laughed. "Remind me to buy her some shoes when we get to Denerim," she said, and kissed him again.

Some time later she remembered someone was supposed to be on watch. "Oh, that would be me, wouldn't it?" Alistair said. "Ahem. Well, I won't be in any danger of falling asleep, that's for certain. Unless... you want to keep me company on watch? Just in case?"

"I don't think we'd get much watching done," she said huskily.

He swallowed. "I suppose not."

"Good night Alistair."

The next day he walked next to her - not quite touching. She felt a constant pull towards him - it was distracting and wonderful at the same time.

"I wanted to ask you something," he said, just before they were to stop for lunch. "We're heading to Denerim..." he trailed off, looking lost.

"Yes?"

"Well - I have a sister..."

"I know."

"Oh, yes. Right. You saw my vision in the fade.." he looked supremely uncomfortable and she couldn't really blame him - he'd been so ashamed of falling for the trick of the sloth demon.

"She lives in Denerim?"

"Yes. I was wondering if we could visit her?"

"Why not? Will she mind if we all visit?"

"Um... well. I've actually never met her..."

The story poured out of him. She remembered his vision in the fade - the content he'd displayed, surrounded by children and family. Such an uncomplicated view of family life, so idyllic. Of course he'd never met her.

"Of course we can visit her," she said then. "You deserve to know your family." He smiled in relief.

"About that fade vision I had..." he said after a moment's pause.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Alistair," she said.

"You never told me," he said. "You never told me how you managed to realise you were in the fade."

She drew her breath in sharply. How could she tell him about what she'd seen? It had often come back to her, that her vision had included him, but his hadn't included her. When she'd had her vision she remembered how her heart had sped up when she saw him with her father and her mother - he'd seemed to fit into the picture so perfectly..

But he'd had a vision of a sister he'd never met.

"I.. I saw Highever," she said. Not a complete lie. "And they were all still alive - Fergus and my mother and father... and Orren..."

He nodded. "What made you realise it wasn't true?"

She looked down at her hands and sighed. "You were there," she said. He blinked.

"I was there?"

She nodded. "You were with Eamon and... you didn't have your armour on.."

"I was naked?? No wonder you woke up...."

She laughed then, and something loosened in her. "No, you weren't naked. But you were being presented as my betrothed."

His jaw dropped. "Eamon... had me brought to Highever.."

She nodded.

"And that's what made you realise it was a fade dream?" He looked a little hurt.

"No... not exactly.. Something wasn't right. I recognised you - I shouldn't have known you. But I recognised that it _wasn't _you - the real you. Do you know what I mean?"

He nodded. "I know exactly what you mean," he said. "That's why I believed you - when you told me it was a dream. I knew you would never lie to me."

She looked up at him. "When we were in the tower.." she said hesitantly. "Did you... did you feel the same about me as you do now?"

He looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Your vision... it was of your sister and not..."

He opened his mouth in an oh of understanding and stopped walking. They allowed the others to overtake them, although Leliana gave her a knowing look as she passed. "Not of you?" Alistair said softly then.

She bit her lip and nodded. He took her hand and traced fingers over her palm. "I care for you," he said. "You know that, don't you?"

She didn't trust herself to answer him.

"But this thing we have... it's not as simple as that. There are.. complications. The blight. Loghain. The fact that we're both Wardens. It's not an.. easy thing - to be with you. And the sloth demon - it wanted us to relax and accept our fate. Be happy with what we had. If it had shown me you... I would have wanted more than just your presence - I would have wanted..." he blushed. "Well.. lets just say if you'd walked in on _that _fantasy I would have stayed in the fade out of embarrassment."

She smiled a little at that. "And seeing you would have reminded me of the blight and what we have to do," he continued. "Not relaxing, that."

"No," she said. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. She felt tears welling and shook her head to clear them. "Well," she said. "That's cleared that up then."

He grinned and put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned her head on him. _Her warden. _

For a week they kept it secret. Only finding each other after the others were asleep - sneaking away from camp, scouting ahead while they were traveling. She was beginning to feel like a teenager. She couldn't concentrate. When they fought, having him close to her was like being constantly electrified. If they touched, even accidently she shivered. His voice was enough to make her knees weak with need.

Finally, Leliana pulled her aside.

"Miranda," she said sternly, as though Miranda was a child to be scolded. "Have you ever made love to man?"

She was completely mute. And shocked. She could only shake her head.

"Well, for Andraste's sake, do it tonight," the bard continued. "If you don't take Alistair to your tent I will hijack him and do it myself. The boy is intolerable at the moment. And so are you."

Still mute, she nodded. The bard stalked off, muttering to herself.

It took all her courage to approach him that night at camp. She wasn't just afraid of what would happen if he said yes. There was a part of her that thought he might say no. She had always been terrified of appearing foolish, and she never wanted him to think of her that way.

"Alistair?" she approached him from behind. He turned quickly, a warm smile suffusing his face that sent heat right into the pit of her stomach.

"Yeeees?" he said.

She rolled her eyes. "I'd like to.... discuss... something private."

He opened his arms. "Well, we're in camp," he said. "Now's as good a time as any to talk."

The next sentence came out in a rush. "So how would you like to join me in my tent?"

The smile disappeared abruptly. "_Join_ you?" he repeated. "In your _tent_?"

She wanted the ground to swallow her up. "If you don't want to.." she turned away and tried to start walking but he lunged forward, grabbed her arm and stopped her from moving.

"No, that's... not it... at _all.." _he said, and his voice was as unsteady as hers. "Not that I want to seem over-eager.." he realised he was gripping her arm tightly and dropped his hand abruptly, his face falling almost comically. "I must sound like a fool...." There was a pause as he looked at her and she at him. His cheeks were red, as red as she imagined hers must be. "You know that I've never done anything like this... with anyone," he continued, "I was quite sheltered after all... I care for you so much, whenever I think about this I feel like a... a bumbling idiot... all _hands... _I wish I could be better at this. I just want it to be _right."_

His uncertainty made her feel more bold. "Alistair you need to relax," she said. _And so do I._

"I really do don't I," he said, smiling a little. "I keep telling myself that. Ah. I don't know. I'm willing to.. give it a shot? If you are.."

She laughed then. "Yes, I'm willing," she said.

He grinned at her. "Right, I'm going to.. stop talking now."

She took his hand and led him away from the fire.

She ducked into her tent with Alistair close behind. Once inside, though, she stopped dead, totally at a loss as to what to do next. For all Alistair's talk of being "sheltered" she really had no more idea of how to go about this than he did. She could feel his breath on her neck though, and his armoured arms came about her shoulders as he nuzzled her. "Second thoughts?" he asked softly, hesitantly. She felt a shiver run through her, and some of her command experience snapped into place.

"No," she said firmly, and turned around to face him. Their lips met fiercely - _this _was a dance with which they were both familiar - yet this time there was no need to hold back, no line drawn which they could not cross. She fumbled with the buckles on his armour and piece by piece fell to the ground as his hands unstrapped her sheathed weapons and let them drop, peeling away leather until they were both in nothing but cloth. Maker, the feel of him, the _heat _of him without plate in the way was enough to make her breath come short and her stomach churn into knots. He traced her neck, her collarbone, let his hand fall hesitantly lower to her breast and she leaned into his touch, feeling his fingers through the cloth of her shirt. It needed to go - all of her clothing needed to go and she let go of him and pulled the shirt over her head.

His breath caught in a gasp. "Andraste's mercy," he breathed, suddenly as still as stone, watching her. She removed breeches next, until she stood naked in front of him. He stood still for another second, his gaze devouring her from head to foot, before she stepped forward into his arms, They came around her strongly and his lips found hers again as they sank to the floor. He laid her down, then, on the bedroll, and pulled his own shirt over his head. She explored the contours of his chest with her hands as he knelt over her, the flat planes of his muscles, the ridges on his lower abdomen. As her fingers crept lower he gasped suddenly and stopped her hand with his own.

"What?" she asked. He looked strained for a moment before taking a deep breath.

"You might want to wait for that," he said, after a few more breaths, his voice rough and full of need. "Or this could all be over before it begins."

It took her a moment to understand what he meant and then she smiled. "Am I that desirable?" she said then.

"Woman," he said then. "You have no idea." He covered her body with his own, using one hand to part her legs. His fingers found her then and she gasped at the shock of sensation as he explored outside, then slipped in. She arched her hips and a moan escaped her lips as he moved his hand, unsure of what he was finding, what he should be doing. She took it then, and guided it and his lips claimed hers again, stopping the bubbling outcry that had begun when he found what she needed him to.

When he released her finally she was insistent, tugging at his breeches and pulling him towards her. He relented and removed his lower clothing, freeing himself to her gaze. She reached out a hand and this time he let her enclose his length. He closed his eyes as her fingers encircled him, breathing deeply and evenly for a moment as she explored the smooth hardness - nothing at all like she imagined. His breath started to come in gasps and he took her exploring hand and moved it away from him - looking into her eyes for a moment, seeking permission. She nodded. She had never been more ready for anything.

He leaned forward and used his hand to guide himself into her. As she felt him penetrate, stretching her, she felt pain, but it was secondary to need and she wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him deeper. He complied with a sudden, strong thrust that filled her completely. The pain was searing - but momentary. He stayed there for a moment, his eyes still fixed on hers, breathing deeply. She smiled up at him and nodded again.

They started to move, slowly he rocked back and filled her again, and again, until they established a rhythm that felt right. His eyes closed and his mouth opened while she traced the line of his jaw as he moved, more quickly now as they felt the pressure build. She let her own eyes close as she felt him grow harder, reaching deeper and deeper. Suddenly her pleasure reached a crescendo and burst out of her in a cry. He let out a low cry of his own and held still, his face buried in her neck, as she felt his body convulse in release.

They lay like that for a few moments, his weight resting on hers, until their breath came easier. He lifted his head from her neck and took some of his weight on his hands, although he made no move to withdraw from her. Instead his eyes searched her face. "I love you," he said softly. She closed her eyes and felt his lips on each of her eyelids in turn.

"I love you, too," she replied. He gently withdrew himself and lay alongside her, his arm across her stomach, brown against her pale skin. His head rested on his other hand and he continued to look down at her.

"You know, according to all the sisters at the monastery, I should have been struck by lightning by now," he said after a moment. She chuckled. Only Alistair would think a comment like that was appropriate. Only for Alistair would she forgive it.

"It could still happen," she said.

His hand traced patterns on her stomach. "Right, but being struck by lightning after the fact hardly seems like an effective deterrent."

She reached up and moved an errant strand of his hair. "You do realise the rest of our little party is going to talk," he said. "They do that."

"First smart comment and I feed them to the darkspawn," she said.

He laughed. "See, _this _is why I love you." He kissed her again and she felt an answering twinge of desire - so soon? she thought, as she pulled him closer to her and felt the heat of his naked body against her own. The kiss had started tamely but suddenly became something more as she felt his leg move between hers. Her arms came back around his shoulders, as her tongue probed him more deeply. "Maker," he said as they pulled apart. "We'll never leave the tent at this rate."

She pushed him onto his back and straddled him, feeling him harden underneath her again as he arched his hips towards her. "Who says we need to?" she replied, and he grinned, running his hands up the sides of her body.

The next morning she awoke feeling sore, but sated, opening her eyes to find Alistair in much the same position as the night before, propped up on one hand, looking down at her.

"Did you know you snore?" he said to her.

"I do?"

He nodded and grinned. "Yup. Not loudly though - otherwise we'd be able to hear it outside the tent. It's like a little..." he made a little snuffling sound in the back of his throat at her and she launched herself at him in attack. He fell back, laughing as they tussled.

"Ahem," there was a cough from outside the tent and they both froze. Zevran's voice floated to them. "Wardens," he said, and there was a definite leer in his voice at the use of the plural - "our esteemed bard has finished preparing breakfast and we have a long journey ahead of us, if you would be so good as to join us?"

Miranda couldn't repress the giggle that escaped her lips at the mortified look on Alistair's face.

"Does that count as a smart comment?" he asked. She got to her feet and started collecting clothes from where they were strewn around the tent. He opened his arms and put on a pleading face. "Come on, it's got to count! You promised you'd feed him to the darkspawn. Can I watch? Can I?"

She swiped at him with a hand. "Get dressed you," she said. "We have an archdemon to defeat, remember?"

He mock grumbled as he found his own clothes and dressed. She was about to duck out of the tent when he caught her arm again, his expression suddenly serious. "So," he said, and the awkwardness that had fallen away from him sometime during the night returned. "What happens now?" he asked. "Where do we go from here?"

She wanted to kiss the worried expression away and leaned forward to do so, before she realised he needed an answer - an answer that she needed just as much to give him. "We stay together," she said. "No matter what."

His face relaxed into a smile. "Right, I can handle that," he said. She kissed him then and again it was long and lingering to the point where she was considering they spend the day in camp. It was Alistair who broke their contact and he rested his forehead on hers, breathing hard for a moment. "I hope," he finished. She tweaked his nose and ducked outside.

Zevran wordlessly handed her a bowl of porridge as she neared the campfire, still strapping on parts of her armour. She thanked him and sat to eat, ignoring the raised eyebrow and expectant expression on the assassin's face. The camp was uncharacteristically silent. Morrigan was off somewhere although her tent and belongings were packed and ready to go. Wynne was busy with her own things and Sten was sitting across the fire from her polishing his sword, Hugo sitting next to him with his tongue lolling out the corner of his mouth. She couldn't see Leliana though and wondered if she'd been scouting the area ahead as she usually did in the mornings.

The porridge was delicious and she was ravenous - all her focus on the food until she heard curses from the direction of her tent.

"By... Andraste's.... flaming... underpants..." Alistair's voice came in staccato bursts as though he was struggling with something. The tent suddenly bulged to one side and there was a crash as it folded in on itself with with a suspiciously Alistair shaped lump underneath.

She dropped her bowl and ran to help.

"How on earth did it get stuck there in the first place?" she whispered to him later as they walked.

Her lover's face was still beet-red, his embarrassment had not faded through the morning. It had taken them half an hour to extricate him from her tent and sort out her belongings.

"You tell me, my love," he hissed back at her. "I seem to remember it was you who took it off."

"Well I was a little distracted at the time," she said, smiling now. He glared at her, furiously. "Come on Alistair," she continued. "You said yourself this wasn't going to be easy to keep quiet. At least this way we don't have to sneak about and pretend nothing's changed."

The glare softened a little, but his lips remained pursed. "I just don't see why it was _me _who had to end up looking the complete idiot," he said.

"Alistair," a voice said from behind them - Morrigan. "You didn't end up anywhere. We already knew you were an idiot."

He spun round, hand on his sword and Miranda caught his arm. "Alistair," she said firmly. He made a face in Morrigan's direction and the witch grinned smugly. "Think of it as taking one for the team," she continued in a softer voice. "I have to lead these people. They might hesitate to take orders from someone who collapsed their own tent on their head."

Her lips twitched as she spoke and his furious glare returned. He opened his mouth to retort but she stepped close and kissed him to keep him quiet. Morrigan groaned and pushed past them.

"Would it help if I told you I loved you?" she said after the rest of the party had overtaken them, Sten tutting in as much disgust as Morrigan.

He sighed then and shrugged. "It couldn't hurt."

"Well, then. I love you Alistair." He grinned at her and they started walking again. "Even when you do look like an idiot."

He stopped for a moment and she thought he might have pushed him too far, but instead he turned and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up and nuzzling her neck. "You," he said, "are the most wonderful, beautiful, perfect woman I have ever met."

She laughed and struggled. "You can put me down now," she said. He shook his head, still buried in her neck, the light shadow of his unshaven cheek scraping across her skin. "Alistair, that's an order." He complied abruptly, lowering her to the ground delicately, but not removing his arms.

"Before we go," he said then, brushing a strand of hair away from her eyes, "I just want to thank you. No one's ever made me feel this way. I wasn't sure it could happen, to be honest."

Unexpected tears welled in her eyes. He was so beautiful, and he always said exactly the right thing. "I feel the same way," she said.

"Good to know," he said, and kissed her.

"If we're going to get to Denerim at all," Morrigan's voice floated back to them, "you too will have to stop that sickening display and start walking."

"You should really kick her arse for me," Alistair said looking in the direction of the mage. "I'd pay to watch that fight."


	7. Chapter 7

SEVEN

In Denerim they called on his sister. It was an unmitigated disaster. The woman was crude, shrewish and greedy. If Alistair hadn't been with her she would have run the woman through. As it was it she felt like her own heart was breaking to see the look on his face.

"Let's go, Alistiar," she said to him finally, after she could take no more of it. "There's nothing for you here."

He nodded.

Outside he looked the way he had after Ostagar - broken, cowed. Since their night together he had glowed - Morrigan's insults had washed over him, but the destruction of what he had hoped for in his family had hit him harder than anything.

She thought of her own family, murdered, missing. "Everyone's out for themselves, Alistair," she heard herself say. "You should know that by now." As soon as the words came out of her mouth she wished they were unsaid - her own bitterness had fueled them, not his situation, but he seemed unaware of the tone. Instead he seemed to draw strength from it. He started standing up for himself when Morrigan dug into him (the witch secretly told Miranda she enjoyed baiting him even more when he talked back). He was more attentive to her in public, as well, without concern for what the others might think. She liked the change in him, even though part of her still mourned for his lost illusions.

They were staying in an inn on the way to Haven, a week from Denerim, reveling in a room to themselves - with a bath.

"Thank goodness you dropped that tent on your head," Miranda said as they both sank into the tub.

"What?"

"Well, if everyone hadn't found out about us, I'd probably be sharing this tub with Leliana and Morrigan, not with you."

"Now, there's a thought," he said and shifted behind her and encircled her in his arms. She splashed him in reprimand, then sighed and leaned her head back on his chest. "You'd be sharing a tub with Zevran and Sten," she murmured. "Now _there's _a thought."

He laughed and squeezed her tighter. "Have you thought.." he said then.. and stopped.

"What?" she said.

He took a deep breath. "Have you thought about what we'll do after the blight?" he asked. "I mean... us..."

"Together?" she said. She felt him nod. "It really depends, doesn't it?"

"On what?"

"On whether you're king or not."

He groaned. "I don't know, try to have a serious romantic conversation about our relationship and you have to bring the whole royal thing into it...."

She lifted her head so she could see his face. "Alistair, I'm serious. You might not want to be king, but chances are the nobles are going to try to put you there. Especially if we want to bring Loghain down. We'll have to put up a reasonable alternative to Anora as queen."

"Arl Eamon.."

"Has no blood claim," Miranda said. "Really, the only noble who would have any chance of taking the throne apart from Loghain is... Fergus. If he's still alive. Or you, because you're a Theirin. And you would always be the first choice."

"But I.."

She turned around in the water and gently smoothed his hair with one hand. "I didn't want to mention it to you before, because you seemed so certain it would never happen. But if we cure Eamon I can guarantee he will put you forward as a claimant to the throne. He would be stupid not to."

He looked surprised. "You know, I sometimes forget you're a teryn's daughter," he said thoughtfully.

She reached one hand down under the water and he jumped at her touch. "I've learned to be more than that," she said huskily.

"Wait.." he protested feebly as she moved her hand. "Um... uh.... weren't we having a conversation about... uh... something important...?"

"I thought we were naked in a bath, to be honest," she said, sliding forward until she was sitting straddling him. His hands moved on her wet back and she started trailing kisses up his neck towards his ear.

"Oh.. uh...mmmmmm. Yes. Important. Kings and.. other stuff....." she shifted a little more and then sat down suddenly.... "aaahhh."

They moved together for a time, languidly to avoid flooding the room. Alistair's eyes were closed as sensation overcame him and she kissed his cheeks, his lips and his neck over and over until pleasure took them both and she let out a long sigh of contentment.

She let herself relax against him in the water, lying on his chest as he ran fingers through her damp hair. She could have fallen asleep, save that the water was chilling.

Eventually he gently lifted her off him and stepped out of the bath. She sat back against the side and watched him - wet, naked and magnificent - as he toweled himself off.

"You'd make a very handsome king," she said then. His head snapped up and his eyes flashed.

"Are you determined to make me into something I'm not?" he said, angrily.

She shook her head, smiling. "You've already got the makings of a leader, you just don't believe in yourself enough."

"What? Me? Lead? No, no no no no. Bad things happen when I lead. We get lost, people die and the next thing you know I'm stranded somewhere... without any pants..."

"There are worse things I can think of than an Alistair without pants," she said. He flicked the towel at her, missing her nose by inches.

"An Alistair on the throne would be the first that came to my mind," he said.

She got out of the bath and took the towel from him, wrapping it around herself. He sighed lustily as she covered herself up and he sat on the edge of the bed. She crawled up behind him and put her chin on his shoulder, trailing her fingers over the planes of his chest. "You're brave," she said to him. "And kind, and intelligent..." he snorted "... intelligent," she said again, tweaking his nose. "You're skilled in battle. And excessively handsome. People will follow you out of admiration if nothing else."

"But I don't know anything about governing," he said. "I don't know the ins and outs of terynir or arlings... I forget the names of nobles as soon as they tell them to me."

"You might not know these things," she said. She took a deep breath. "But I do."

He looked down at her. She lifted her chin and looked right back at him. He turned on the bed until they were facing each other and took her hands in his. "Are you saying... you'd stay with me? If I was king?"

She looked into his eyes. They held fear, but coupled with that fear was a touch of hope.

"Of course," she said to him. "Where did you think I was going to go?"

He blinked. "Um... I don't know. I guess I'd just presumed that if I was made king they'd force us to.. uh.."

"You think they wouldn't let me marry you?"

"Well, no. I mean - you're a warden. We can't.. it's not likely we'll be able to have children..."

"Not from lack of trying!"

He laughed. "That's true."

"No one else knows about our little lifespan trouble, do they?" she said then. "They know we can sense darkspawn, but the don't know the full story behind the taint. And I'm still Bryce Cousland's daughter. To be honest, if Fergus isn't still alive, Eamon could do worse than put _me _forward as a claimant to the throne."

"I might just suggest he do that," Alistair said.

"He wouldn't even consider it when you're there as an option," she said. They sat there, silent for a moment. Alistair looked a little like a trapped animal, until he frowned suddenly.

"Can we back track a moment," he said. "You said something about marriage...?"

She laughed. "Oh, I just thought I'd sneak that in there and see if you noticed," she said.

"Consider it noticed."

"You did ask me what you thought we'd do after the blight," she pointed out.

"I kind of had a romantic image of traveling the countryside with you, as wardens, fighting evil, rescuing maidens.."

"Together? That might be a little frustrating for the maidens."

"Nobly rescuing maidens," he said. "Chastely."

"How very dull."

"You sound like Zevran."

They lay on the bed together and she fitted herself into him, head on his chest. It was just the right height for her to sleep on.

"So you never had a romantic image of the two of us settling down to have a dozen children?" she asked after a moment.

"I .. ah.. well. Not very often. You're not really the domestic type, my love."

"You prefer me covered in blood with a dagger in my hand?"

"I prefer you completely naked and at my mercy. But as a close second, yes."

"Metaphorically I'll probably spend more time like that if you're king than if we both stay wardens."

"Naked?"

"Covered in blood with a dagger in my hand."

"Now there's an image I'll be taking to sleep tonight."

She reached up and stroked his cheek. He leaned his head towards her hand and sighed.

"We've still got a blight to defeat," she said then. "And I would never force you into anything you didn't want, Alistair. You've had too much of that in your life already."

"I just can't picture it," he said, turning to her and propping himself on his elbow. "Whenever I think of it I get... snakes in my stomach. Big ones. With teeth." She looked at him. "Yes, I know snakes don't have teeth but these ones do."

"I love you," she said. "I love you for everything you are - and it the end it will be your decision. I want you to know that."

"Even if Eamon insists?"

"No matter what."

He kissed her then, and they took full advantage of the bed for the rest of the night.


	8. Chapter 8

EIGHT

Zevran suggested they look in the Brescilian forest for the Dalish elves - although he offered no explanation for where he got the information. It was enough on their way to Haven that Miranda decided to go there first. Alistair was reluctant - he wanted to do everything possible to cure Eamon as quickly as possible, but Miranda insisted. "When it's all said and done, Eamon is just one man," she said. "We still need allies."

The situation with the Dalish made her sigh, and she wondered at herself that she could sigh at something so terrible. The entire country was in chaos - nothing was simple, and only she could fix it.

She fixed it. The curse was broken, the werewolves were cured, the lady and Zathrien both destroyed. A couple of days' worth of work and they continued on their way to Haven.

Wynne took her aside before they reached Haven. "You two are quite taken with each other, aren't you?"

Miranda studied the older mage. She'd come to respect her, and found her company restful, but she wasn't sure she liked the tone of her enquiry. "Yes," she said shortly. Wynne seemed taken aback by her tone and Miranda softened. "Sorry, Wynne. I'm a bit sensitive about this, in case you haven't already noticed."

"Indeed," the older mage said. She opened her mouth to say more but Miranda held up her hand.

"Let me guess," she held up a hand and ticked off each point on her fingers. "You're worried because we're both grey wardens. You're worried because Alistair is potentially the heir to the throne of Ferelden. You're worried because we're both faced with daily peril to our lives. You're probably annoyed at all the noise from my tent at night.." Wynne, who had been looking stern, suddenly grinned and Miranda smiled back up at her. "Let me reassure you that we've both thought about all of these things and considered what it might mean for us, and we don't especially care."

"You are an extremely self-possessed young woman," the mage said finally. "I was indeed worried about all those things. But most of all I'm worried about Alistair. He's a good man, but he has very little experience in matters of the heart. I don't want to see him getting hurt."

"Believe me, Wynne. Hurting Alistair is the last thing I would ever do."

"I hope you're right," she replied.

Haven was an example of what happened to towns when they didn't interact with the outside world. The people were twisted and Miranda felt vaguely dirty every time she had to talk to them. Once they reached the temple she'd built up a fairly large store of anger against thick headedness, which of course she had the opportunity to express.

It was the gauntlet that hurt her. Oh, the riddles were easy enough - she had always been good at mind games, but when the guardian asked if she had any regrets she found herself wondering if she did.

Her father had told her to go. Her mother had told her to go. But could she have saved them? When Alistair said he'd wanted to be with Duncan when he died she felt somehow shamed - part of her had been thankful to get away from her parents and not share their fate. Although she told herself she would have stayed if they'd asked a small part of her knew they would never have asked. She had been safe from that, and perhaps at the time she had known it.

The final blow was seeing the image of her father. When he appeared she almost turned around and left, but Alistair was there, right behind her, and his solid presence bolstered her.

They got to the ashes. But it was all she could do to hold herself together until they got to camp.

Sten was cooking dinner and the rest of the party were tending their arms and armour. She took herself away from the firelight, far enough away that no one could hear, and sat down. Her tears on the way to Ostagar had been from horror, she realised, and shock. And mostly - the admission was difficult for her, she'd always been too proud - self pity. She had come to cry - she knew, but her eyes were still dry and all she could do was stare into the darkness.

Alistair found her, an hour later, maybe two. She didn't even notice he was there until his arms came around her shoulders and he sat behind her, pulling her back against his chest. He'd removed his armour and was wearing a simple shirt and breeches. The warm heat of him for once did nothing to arouse desire in her - instead she let out a sob and turned her face into his chest. He stroked her hair as she cried, silently, offering nothing but his presence.

Finally the wracking sobs subsided and she sighed against him, eyes closed.

"You've been holding that in since I met you," Alistair said softly. She nodded. She felt drained, but also complete. He kissed the top of her head and ran his fingers through her hair.

"Ugh, I'm a mess," she said, sniffing. "The ballads never mention snot when ladies weep."

He laughed and fished in his pocket. "I thought you might need one of these," he said, handing her a hankerchief. She examined it curiously - it had a small "A" initialed in one corner.

"You really do sew your name into things," she said. "Where did you learn the embroidery?"

"Just blow your nose woman," he said sternly. "And never speak of it again."

"Yes ser!" She did as he asked, then sighed in contentment.

"You know, I've never been one to hold in my emotions," he said. "It didn't make me many friends when I was in the chantry - or before that either. But I think... in the end... it makes you feel better."

She smiled. She'd had a sudden image of Alistair as a young boy in the Chantry, giving hell to the sisters. "I bet you were terrible as a child," she said.

"You'd better believe it."

"I, on the other hand, was a delightful child," she said. "No trouble at all."

"And now you are a delightful woman. Far more popular than I am. But if you feel like doing something unpopular, you can always do it with me."

"Mmmm," she said thoughtfully, and shifted position slightly so she was more completely pressed against him. "Unpopular?"

"I just said something inappropriate, didn't I?" he said.

"No," she said. "You said just what I needed to hear."

Redcliffe was almost bustling again, although the people had a haggard look in their eyes, and of course there were fewer of them. Alistair was in a state - almost vibrating with anxiousness. She wondered at him, that he could care so much about someone who had ultimately failed him. He looked on his removal to the chantry as his own fault, not Eamon's or Isolde's. It was part of what made him so lovable.

Teagan took them through to the Arl's bedroom. Isolde was there, and Miranda had to take a deep breath when she dropped a curtsey to the woman (technically, as a Teryn's daughter, Isolde should have been curtseying to _her) _and the mage attending the arl quickly took the pouch of ashes.

Eamon looked dreadful - his eyes were sunken, his cheeks hollow. Miranda truthfully didn't see how anything could cure him. But the mage touched a pinch of the ashes to Eamon's lips and the change was almost instantaneous.

When they felt sure Eamon would recover, they left him to his wife and son for a time. Alistair was grinning from ear to ear. Teagan suggested they take some time to relax and she agreed, realising suddenly that she had been holding tension in places she'd never thought of before.

Teagan showed them to rooms - separate ones, she noted wryly. Teagan had no idea about her and Alistair, or wasn't saying anything if he did.

She removed her armour and washed, thinking wistfully of the bath at the inn of a few weeks ago, then dressed. Isolde had arranged clothes for her and she made a face as she put on the dress - so restrictive. It was so rare that she not have to wear armour that it felt strange to go out into the castle without it - she was exposed, naked. It didn't help that the last time she had wandered its halls she had been beset on all sides by ghouls and spirits.

She got lost trying to find her way down to the audience hall and ended up wandering into the Arl's study. His desk had been rifled through and things were all over the floor - she guessed that no one had been in there since the Arl fell ill, there was dust over everything as well. She knew her father had given the serving staff standing orders not to touch anything in his study and figured Eamon probably had the same policy - it was too easy for important documents to go missing.

A glint of something silver caught her eye in an open drawer and she moved to it - years of habit from Highever and the teachings of Hubert - _never miss an opportunity to find out more about someone _- had her taking the object from the draw and examining it.

It was an amulet - with Andraste's holy symbol on it. Simple silver on a black leather cord. But it had been broken at one stage - there were cracks all through it. Someone had painstakingly glued it back together.

_Alistair's mother's amulet..._ she realised suddenly. She remembered his face so clearly as he told her the story.

"I don't think this is the audience chamber," came a voice from behind her. Teagan. She hastily stuffed the amulet into her bodice and turned, putting on her most charming smile.

"I know," she said. "I'm sorry. I got lost."

The bann smiled and held out his arm. "Allow me to escort you downstairs," he said. She nodded and took his arm automatically. Something about him made her slip into "Lady Cousland" far too easily, or maybe it was wearing skirts for the first time in nearly a year. She suspected that if her mother had had her way, Teagan would have been next on her list for a possible betrothal.

_It wouldn't have been so bad, _she thought as they made their way through the halls. _He's very handsome._

When they got to the audience chamber, however, Alistair was already there and she couldn't stop the huge grin that spread over her face as his eyes met hers. He was dressed in court clothes - it was almost worth having to wear a dress to see him in them - and his golden hair shone in the torchlight. Teagan seemed to notice her reaction and let his arm fall as she hurried forward. Alistair breathed in deeply as she approached and let his eyes linger on her bodice. "You _do _look lovely in a dress," he said under his breath. She felt a thrill run through her, then remembered why they were there.

Eamon looked like she remembered him - tall and straight backed, all trace of the illness gone from his face. She marveled that the ashes could be so powerful.

He was full of command as well, and she could see why Alistair thought he would have a chance at the throne. When he suggested Alistair as a claimant, Alistair claimed her hand with her own. She looked up at him and he nodded sadly. A token resistance was all he put up. She was glad he did that much - Eamon needed to know that what he proposed was not Alistair's first choice, otherwise once he did become king Eamon would always hold power over him.

After their talk they were invited to a formal dinner. Miranda suppressed a groan, her hand still trapped in Alistair's, as they made their way to the dining hall.

"What's the problem?" he said to her softly.

"I had other plans for tonight," she said, eyeing his hose. He blushed.

"Plenty of time for that after food," he said. "Redcliffe makes this magnificent cheese..."

"I could think of a few things to do with cheese right now..."

Alistair took a deep breath. "Your lecherous looks I can cope with, even a dress - though extremely distracting and lovely, I can overcome. But if you mention cheese in that tone of voice again I'm going to have to go and have a cold bath..."

"Mmmm. Wet Alistair."

He squeezed her hand suddenly, enough so it hurt, and let out a growl ".... or take you now in front of everyone..."

She laughed. "I love it when you talk dirty to me."

"Mmm. I think I can smell cheese. Yes. Lots of cheese."

Later, she snuck out of her rooms as arranged and slipped into his, silently. He was standing by the fire, still dressed in his court clothes, with his head sunk on his chest in thought. She didn't see him like that often - and she was struck then by his resemblance to Cailan.

He looked up suddenly and a smile spread over his face. "Well, my lady," he said. "You're looking beautiful."

"So are you," she said and stepped into his arms. He explored her body with his hands, running his hands over her back, her waist and up over her breasts - and stopped.

"What's this?" he asked. "Are you hiding things in your bodice, madam?"

She'd forgotten about the amulet. He deftly plunged his hand into her bodice and (with a little side exploration that had her breathing hard) pulled it out.

He looked puzzled for a moment before he recognised it. Stepping back from her he ran his fingers over the pattern and turned it over in his hands several times.

"This is my mother's amulet. It has to be. But... why isn't it broken? Where did you find it?"

"I.. ah, found it in a room on the first floor..."

"Oh, the Arl's study... then he must have picked it up after I threw it at the wall. And he repaired it and kept it.... I don't understand. Why would he do that?"

"Perhaps you meant more to him than you thought," she said.

"I guess you could be right. We never really talked that much.. and then the way I left..." he looked into her eyes and she could see his were shining. "Thank you. I mean it. I thought I'd lost this to my own stupidity."

"You should thank Eamon.. I just found it, I didn't repair it."

He nodded. "I'll need to talk to him about this." He lowered the amulet over his neck and tucked it into his shirt. "I wish I'd had this a long time ago. Did you remember me mentioning it? Wow. I'm more used to people not really listening when I go on about things."

"You have a way about going on about things that keeps my interest," she said, smiling.

He grinned at her. "Weren't we doing something?" he said then, huskily.

Afterwards they lay together, sleepily. "Eamon is determined to make me king," he said. She nodded.

"I told you he would be."

"You meant what you said, didn't you? About staying with me?"

She nodded again and sat up to look down at him. "No matter what," she said. "If you decide to run away and rescue maidens as a warden or conquer Thedas as Ferelden's king."

He let out a deep sigh and stroked her shoulder. "I suppose there would be compensations," he said then.

"Wynne once said to me that having power confines you," Miranda said, "and it does. But yes, there will be compensations. And you can do so much good."

He nodded. "As long as you're there," he said softly.

"I promise."

She slipped out in the night - it wouldn't really do to have the servants find her in Alistair's bed in the morning.

Before they left the next day Alistair left her to have a private word with Eamon. When he emerged he looked thoughtful and he fingered the amulet around his neck unconsciously.

"What did he say?" she asked him.

He smiled at her, although the smile was a little troubled. "Pretty much what you said. He... apologized to me as well. For sending me to the chantry."

She was shocked. "He apologized? That doesn't seem like him."

"I think he.. feels guilty about putting me forward as king. After everything they said to me... when I found out who my father was... Well I suppose he's feeling pretty stupid at the moment. I did point out he was one of the people who was most determined I not be taken into the line of succession and he acknowledged that. And then he apologized."

"Why are you so troubled?" she asked.

"I get the impression there's something else he's not telling me," Alistair said. "Something important."

"Well, when you're king you can order him to tell you," she said brightly.

He grinned then. "I suppose I can!"


	9. Chapter 9

NINE

They were sidetracked on their journey to Orzammar by the rumour of a golem in Honnleath. Shale was.. an interesting addition to their motley group, one who made her uneasy at first, but eventually hilarious. She suspected that the golem harboured secret desires for Sten.

Morrigan had also discovered Flemeth's true purpose in raising so many daughters, and Miranda thought it was important enough to get rid of that threat before they confronted the archdemon, so an additional trip back to the wilds to kill a dragon delayed them even further.

By the time they got to Orzammar she was used to Shale.... she thought of the golem as her, although really it was impossible to tell.

Somehow, Orzammar made the blight seem far more real than anything else they had been through. Maybe it was the darkness - the constant red glow from the streams of lava... Maybe it was the presence of the darkspawn in the tunnels - she could feel them like a constant ache and she could see that Alistair did to.

The two claimants to the throne depressed her. In reality, Bhelen was the logical choice, but she squirmed to think of him on the throne. He reminded her of Loghain - he was driven and unscrupulous and possibly a murderer. But she could prove none of it, and there was no doubt if he was king he would be more effective than Harrowmont.

After their mission to play fetch for Bhelen in the deep roads they took rooms in the palace for the night. They ate a sumptuous meal that tasted like ash while their host waxed lyrical about his plans for the casteless. She was silent for most of the meal, leaving Leliana and Zevran to make conversation. She left the table as soon as she could, claiming tiredness, and made her way to her room alone.

She was sitting on the bed in thought when Alistair got there.

"You're troubled, my love," he said, shutting the door behind him.

She nodded. "I don't like Bhelen," she said. "I don't trust him."

Alistair sat next to her. "I don't either," he said. "I wondered why you preferred him over Harrowmont. Especially given the late King's preference."

She sighed. "He's the better choice," she said. "Harrowmont is weak. The dwarves can't afford a weak leader at the moment. But I can't help thinking I'm doing this for my own reasons, not theirs."

He took her hand. "We need their help against the Blight," he said. "So, yes, you are doing this for your own reasons. But those reasons also happen to be reasons that will save all of Ferelden."

"It's a good excuse," she said. "But it doesn't make me feel any better."

He hugged her against him and kissed her hair.

Meeting Oghren cheered her a little, but being in the deep roads ate at her. Part of her was thinking about the future - thirty years from now she'd be back here, and she wouldn't be leaving again. But it wasn't until they faced the broodmother that she felt actual fear for her fate.

She destroyed the anvil, despite Branka. Oghren's ex-wife was clearly insane beyond redemption and her morality squirmed at the thought of making more golems, despite the help they were to her. Her decisions - her actions - felt a long way away from her at the moment. When Bhelen announced he was going to execute Harrowmont she winced and hung her head, but she was firm with him about the troops for the blight.

When Oghren asked to accompany them she agreed without hesitation. She wanted nothing more than to get out of Orzammar and never go back there again, she could understand the dwarf's desire to do the same.

They made their way back to Redcliffe.

All their allies were assembled, and Arl Eamon suggested they travel as a group to Denerim in order to confront Loghain. Miranda found her thoughts turning to Howe - he was in Denerim now (she knew he had been absent on their last visit) and her hands itched to confront him. Alistair was also tense - their lovemaking at night was tending towards the violent as they both tried to distract themselves from their impending task.

They had barely arrived at Eamon's estate when Loghain arrived, with Howe in tow.

"He's with Howe?" Miranda heard herself almost screech at the elven servant who brought the message. She was still fully armed and armoured, and at the door before Alistair caught her arm. He was only just strong enough to halt her advance.

"Please, warden!" Eamon said. "We have no evidence of his crimes. You cannot simply kill him!"

She turned on the older man and snarled at him. "Evidence? Since when does a _teryna_ need more than her word to prove to the landsmeet a wrongdoing? Would the bloody corpse of my _nephew _be enough evidence to string this man up?"

Alistair was stroking her arm, murmuring words she couldn't hear. She shook him off. "He is protected by Loghain," Eamon said, his voice climbing in pitch. "We cannot move against him without also moving against the Teryn, and the Teryn has too much power at the moment."

She thumped the doorway enough to leave a dent and bruise her knuckles and bowed her head, breathing hard.

"Lady Cousland, please, we must do this legally or Loghain will have even _more _power."

"Right," she said under her breath. "Legally."

She drew herself upright and walked through the door. Alistair and Eamon followed close behind.

When she saw his face, she felt herself go blank. It was either that or launch herself at him. Loghain was secondary, although next to her she could feel Alistair's tension. She heard herself reply, coolly, to Loghain's questions, but when he introduced Howe she couldn't control herself.

She felt Alistair's hand on her arm and saw both Loghain and Howe take note of it. They were the snakes with teeth, she thought. They would use anything and anyone to get what they wanted. She was suddenly afraid for Alistair - more afraid than she'd ever been for anything. These were the men they were trying to depose and they would stop at nothing to keep Alistair from the throne.

When they left she launched herself towards Zevran's quarters. Alistair followed, looking bemused.

The assassin was sitting on the edge of the bed polishing his daggers. "Well," he said, as both Alistair and Miranda entered. "An unexpected pleasure. Were you not just entertaining our favourite traitor? What brings you to my humble quarters?"

"I have a new job for you," Miranda said. Zevran arched a delicate eyebrow and put his daggers aside. "Until the landsmeet is over and both Howe and Loghain are dead - possibly Anora as well come to think of it.. you're Alistair's bodyguard. You don't leave his side. You inspect his food. You enter any room before him. You sleep in the same room. Understood?"

Both men's jaws dropped. "What?" Alistair said.

"You both heard me," she said.

"You command my oath, lady," Zevran said. "I shall do as you ask."

Alistair grabbed her and pulled her out of the Antivan's room. "Excuse me," he said to Zevran. "I have to beat some sense out of her."

Outside he pushed her against a wall and looked at her. "What in Andraste's name are you doing?" he said then. "You can't seriously expect me to take that Antivan everywhere with me!"

She looked up into his eyes, and found herself close to tears. "I can't protect you," she said then. "I'm too close. I can't see all the dangers."

"Why do I need protection?"

"Alistair, Howe will kill you without a moment's thought. Loghain killed your _brother _- you don't think the first thing the two of them are thinking is how to get rid of you? We can't trust anyone here - Eamon has been sick for months, the entire staff of this estate is suspect."

"I'm not exactly helpless myself, Miranda," he said.

She reached up and cupped his cheek. "But you're not devious," she said. "You're not suspicious. If they attack it's going to be from a direction we don't expect. Zevran knows about this sort of thing."

"Are you going to lock me up here with that elf while you wander around the city?"

"No," she said. "I'm going to drag you around with me, and the elf. I don't want you in the same spot for too long."

"Do you seriously expect me to sleep with him?"

She let out a laugh that had a hint of hysteria in it and he blushed. "I seriously expect him to be in the same room with you, yes," she said. "I will be as well."

He sighed and leant his forehead on hers. "We'd better kill Loghain quickly then," he said. "Otherwise I'm going to be very, very tense. Are you sure we can't just run away and rescue maidens together?" he said.

She hugged him fiercely. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I should never have let him do this. If I'd thought there was any chance.. Alistair if anything happened to you I...."

He brought his arms up around her and stroked her back and hair. "Hey, hey," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

She closed her eyes and held him tighter. "Can I just say," he said then, "that you are magnificent when you're angry?"

She smiled into his chest, but inside there was a hard kernel of fear that wouldn't dissipate until she was certain both Howe and Loghain were dead. _He will not take any more from me._

That night Zevran and Miranda slept on the floor in Alistair's room, both armed. Alistair protested feebly and tried to get her to take the bed but she refused - she didn't want to be comfortable when he might be in danger. Zevran was thorough - he checked the corridoors and set up warning signals - but there were no attacks that night.

They spent the next day gauging the moods of the various nobles in Denerim. It was depressing. Loghain was popular - his support base consisted of nobles who remembered him as the hero of Ferelden and his perpetration of the rumour about the grey warden's treachery had been masterful and thorough. Miranda suspected Howe had been behind that. They got back to the Arl's estate near lunch to find Anora's lady in waiting there.

When she explained that Howe had Anora confined Miranda was suspicious. She had no reason to trust the woman, and she suspected it was merely a way of getting at Alistair. But part of her wanted very badly to get inside the Arl's estate, and there was no way she was leaving Alistair out of her sight.

They infiltrated the estate relatively easily, and she quickly realised it had been worth her time. Who would have guessed that he would keep so many dirty secrets locked in his dungeon? Zevran and she scouted ahead and they managed to free Riordan, the templar and the elf without detection. When they came to the former Arl of Denerim's son, Vaughan, she hesitated.

"What's wrong?" Wynne asked as she stood at the bars to the cage looking at him.

"I can support you in the landsmeet!" Vaughan said.

She resisted the urge to spit, but stood considering him for a long moment.

"Wait...I know you, surely? You're.."

"Miranda Cousland," she said, and took a deep breath. "I'll release you on the condition you support us in the landsmeet," she said.

"Of course, anything you say."

She felt dirty, but she unlocked the cage and set him free. As he ran, her companions looked puzzled.

"What was that all about?" Alistair asked.

She pursed her lips. She felt like she'd eaten dirt. "I'll tell you after the landsmeet. When you're king and can do something about it."

It was the torture chamber that nearly sent her over the edge. A white hot fury fueled her as she killed the torturer. No human being would do this to another. Oswyn could barely walk. She didn't want to ask him what Howe's men had done to him. She could see what they had done to others.

When she was finally face to face with Howe she felt like she had been reduced to nothing but the desire for revenge. He looked at her down his blade of a nose with eyes that were empty of all humanity. She thought of Oswyn, of the bodies she'd seen in the chamber. She glanced at Alistair next to her, who's face was set and expressionless.

"Well look here," Howe drawled. "Bryce Cousland's little spitfire - all grown up and still playing the man. I never thought you'd be fool enough to turn up here. But then, I never thought you'd live either."

"Glad to disappoint." The words were forced out of her tightly clenched jaw. "It won't be the first time, either."

"Is this about your family? Still? But I have done so much more than wipe your name from Ferelden memory. And what's left? A fool husk of a daughter likely to end her days under a rock in the deep roads." Alistair's head snapped up and he looked like he was going to step forward. Howe smirked at him, looked him up and down and dismissed him. "Even the wardens are gone. You're the last of nothing. This is pointless. You've lost."

She stared into his eyes. Saw the smallness, the jealousy, the bitterness that had driven him to murder her family. "I know your game," she said. "No shadows, no lies. Just you and me."

He held her gaze for a long moment, then sneered.

"There it is, right there. That damn look in the eye that marked every Cousland success that held me back. It would appear that you have made something of yourself after father would be proud." Howe nodded to the corners of the room and his companions stepped forward - a mage and two heavily armed men. Alistair drew his sword, Zevran his daggers. She could feel a tingle of electricity behind her as Wynne moved into a casting stance. "I on the other hand, want you dead," Howe finished, drawing his own weapons, "more than ever."

They attacked.

She fell into her fighting stance automatically. Alistair disabled the mage swiftly - Wynne and Zevran took care of the two fighters and she was left facing Howe. She'd seen him fight before, but always against her father and always with practice weapons. Now he held a vicious axe and longsword. He was bigger than her and had longer reach, but she was faster. They feinted several times before she managed to get inside his guard and rake her dagger across his unprotected neck. He stopped the blow before it went deep enough to be fatal and grabbed her arm with the hand that held his axe, pulling her close in a parody of a lover's embrace. She kneed him in the groin and he grunted, letting her loose. The area was well enough protected that she'd done him no real harm, however.

It was then that he let fly. A rapid flurry of strokes against her that she blocked with the Cousland sword and her dagger. He was trying to wear her down with his greater strength - he had realised early on that she had greater stamina than he. _There are a few advantages to being a grey warden_ she thought. She let her guard drop a little, and slowed her parries enough to let him think she was tiring. His eyes flashed - her ruse had worked, and he attempted a quick body blow with his axe that would gut her - if it connected.

She blocked it with her dagger and kicked him solidly in the stomach, sending him sprawling. She advanced relentlessly and sank the Cousland sword into his belly, piercing his leather armour with the strength of her rage. He let out a gurgling scream as the sword bit deep and clutched at the blade with his fingers. She ripped it out of him and knelt on one knee in front of him.

"For my family," she said softly.

"Damn you," he spat, the blood bubbling on his lips. "I deserved more."

She watched as he died. Stayed there even when the sounds of battle ceased. Finally she felt a hand on her shoulder and she looked up to see Alistair. Blood ran down the side of his face from a cut.

"It's done," he said. She nodded.

"Loghain is next," she said, and allowed him to help her to her feet.


	10. Chapter 10

TEN

Ser Cauthrien was waiting with fully thirty men when they tried to leave. She cursed. It had been a trap, although she didn't think it had been planned by Anora. They were tired and Alistair was wounded and she didn't like their chances against warriors of their calibre. Instead of fighting she allowed Wynne and Zevran to slip away with Anora.

Ser Cauthrien was an honorable woman, she knew. If she and Alistair were in her custody, they were probably safer from Loghain than anywhere else.

When they arrived at Fort Drakon, however, she realised her mistake. Cauthrien handed them over to the guards and they were taken below - to a chamber much like the one she'd found Oswyn in.

_Oh maker, _she thought. _They're going to kill us both._

They stripped Alistair first - down to his smallclothes. He struggled a few times, but one of the guards pulled back Miranda's head and put a dagger to her throat, and he stopped. They tossed his gear into a corner and shoved him into a cell - one that looked out onto the chamber. Then they started on her.

She had reasoned Ser Cauthrien would treat them humanely, at least until Loghain's men got to them. She had reasoned that they would have time to plan an escape - that Anora and Wynne and Zevran would come to find them.

She realised she hadn't been thinking clearly. As the guards pulled her armour from her, then her clothes, she realised she'd been royally stupid. They didn't even know who she was - who Alistair was. They were just prisoners of Loghain's. She could hear Alistair shouting at her from the cage they'd flung him into.

"We've got ourselves a pretty one," the captain said. They'd stripped her completely naked. Two of them were holding her arms. Just her arms. She fought to stay still and resist the urge to kick, knowing that her only advantage at the moment was the fact that her legs were still free. They had pinched and prodded as they undressed her, but none of them had tried anything else, yet.

"So, who are we, then, my pretty?" the captain continued. "A traitor to the throne? One of Eamon's lackeys? Or just a deserter?"

"If you touch her I will kill you," Alistair's voice came from the cage, low and menacing.

"Mmmm. Seems like your fellow over there doesn't like to watch," the captain continued, stepping closer and reaching out a hand to cup her breast. She heard Alistair bash the bars of his cage and growl. He pinched her nipple and she gritted her teeth and turned her head away.

"No complaints from her yet, my friend," the captain called up towards Alistair. "Maybe I can make her growl like you do. Maybe we can all have a go at it, eh boys?"

The men laughed. She bit her lip then, and forced her head up to look the captain in the eye.

"You really don't need all these men to hold me," she said, as sweetly as she could manage. "Or share me, for that matter."

He cocked his eyebrow. "And what might that mean?"

She lowered her lids in what she hoped was a coy, flirtatious look. "I'm quite well experienced," she said. "But I perform better when there's only one customer."

The captain grinned suddenly. "Oh, but I couldn't deny my men the pleasure of someone so... tempting.." he said then, reaching out his other hand to her stomach and lower. She had to exert all her willpower to stop from flinching.

"I don't tire easily," she said. "They'll each have their turn. But as captain...." she looked him up and down and licked her lips, "you should definitely have first taste."

He laughed. "Well I'll be. Boys, make sure the complainer is secure and leave us alone." The two guards holding her shoved her forward to the captain, who grasped her wrists in his hands. "But seeing as I'm not completely stupid," he said. "I think we'll be using a few restraints." He dragged her by the wrists to a nearby table and threw her onto it, while the two guards who had been holding her locked her wrists into manacles. They were attached to chains, she realised with relief, and not directly to the table so she still had freedom of movement. And he did not chain her feet.

"Miranda.." Alistair's anguished voice came from the cage as he continued to rattle the locks - raising to a roar. "By the Maker, I will kill every last one of you!"

The other guards left once they were sure she was secure. The captain locked the door from the inside and turned back to her with a possessive grin and started to remove his armour. She tested the length of the chains - they were shorter than she would have liked, but long enough for her purposes. She could only thank Andraste that they had not bothered to check her hair when they stripped her naked.

"So how do you like it?" she asked the Captain, who was down to his smallclothes. There was an unmistakable bulge there that sent her throat dry.

"Well, my lady," he said. "How about we try a little something I heard about from Antiva.."

"Antiva?" she said then. "It just so happens that I have learned many things from that country. Let me show you..."

He grinned and climbed up onto the slab in front of her, grabbing at her breasts with one hand while he pulled down his smallclothes with the other. He moved over her and she felt the hard length of him pressing against her stomach. She reached up her arms to his head and made as if to lower his face to hers. As soon as he was close enough, however she twisted to one side, kicking up with her knees and legs suddenly to dislodge his weight from her, slipping out from underneath him and wrapping the chain from her left hand around the man's neck. Her right arm was twisted unnaturally and she cried out as she hit the floor - hoping the shoulder wasn't dislocated, but she had a firm grip on the chain as she strangled the life out of the captain. It didn't take long and he hadn't had time to cry out. When he was dead she painstakingly untangled herself from his corpse and let it drop to the floor and climbed back up onto the table. She tested her shoulder which still seemed to function, although she suspected it would be bruised black on the morrow, and searched through her hair for the pins she knew were there.

She made short work of the manacles and then rushed to Alistair's cage. His lock was no more difficult. "Just like Redcliffe," she said as the door clicked open. She was nearly bowled over, then as Alistair crushed her to him. "Maker," he said, his hands moving on her back, her neck, her hair. "My love, tell me you aren't hurt..." He was kissing her face, her neck, and she found herself suddenly completely and utterly helpless against a wave of desire more intense than anything she had ever felt before. _Mine, _she thought. _My choice. _She kissed him back and fumbled with his smallclothes. He pushed her back against the wall of the cell and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he entered her, frantically. She cried out and grasped at his back in pleasure as he drove into her rapidly.

It was over as quickly as it had begun and she had a moment to think it was very lucky the captain had locked the door from the inside. "Holy Andraste," Alistair breathed, leaning against her. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry?" she said.

"That's probably the last thing you wanted after what they did... were going to do.."

She took his face in her hands and kissed him soundly. "Don't be silly," she said then. "It's exactly what I needed to wipe the memory away. Also, handy cover - they might have been suspicious if there _hadn't _been any moaning."

He laughed and disengaged himself, pulling his smallclothes back into place. She quickly gathered their armour and arms and started dressing, wincing at the pain in her shoulder. "They did hurt you," he hissed, as he saw her movement.

"It'll heal. He's dead now."

"How are we going to get out?"

They dressed Alistair in the Captain's armour - they were enough of a size for him to pass as long as he kept the helm on. She unlocked the door and Alistair poked his head outside briefly. There were only two guards outside - obviously the rest had duties. The first one saw the Captain's helm, grinned and nudged his companion. Alistair beckoned them both inside. Once they were through the doorway he flattened one with a gauntleted fist. Miranda knocked the other out with the pommel of her dagger. They stripped the two men naked and locked them in Alistair's cage. She donned the smaller of the two's armour and they gathered their gear into a pack.

Sneaking out of the fortress after that was relatively easy. They had the unimaginable luck of being mistaken for new recruits, with a bit of persuasion they were able to walk out into the streets of Denerim.

"Remind me when I'm king to replace all the guards in that prison," he said as they found an alley to rid themselves of the guard uniforms. "Or possibly burn it to the ground." When they were comfortable in their old gear he took her in his arms again, gently to avoid hurting her shoulder. "That was the worst thing I've ever had to go through," he said softly, and she was stunned to feel that he was shaking.

She didn't know what to say. Part of her had been terrified, but another part had known exactly what to do, thanks to Hubert and his training. "I can look after myself," she said to him finally. "You should know that by now."

"Oh, I do," he said, laughing a little. "The problem is, _I_ want to look after you. But you keep managing on your own."

She smiled at him. "You do look after me," she said. "In every way."


	11. Chapter 11

ELEVEN

Back at the Arl's estate they found Anora. Eamon was surprised to see them both, but he grinned in relief.

"Thank the maker you're both all right," he said, clasping her hand warmly and clapping Alistair on the back. Anora was with him and she had a hard look on her face when she saw Alistair. _Trouble_, Miranda thought immediately. Eamon also noticed Anora's look and frowned. Alistair cocked his eyebrow at her and excused himself. "I need to get Wynne to have a look at this," he said, pointing to the cut on his forehead. "You should get that shoulder attended to my love," he said to her. Anora's eyes flashed and settled on Miranda at the use of the endearment as Alistair left them.

"I have some information for you, warden," Anora said then. _Warden, _Miranda thought. _She's being very careful not to acknowledge I'm a Cousland. _

The situation in the Alienage had been worrying her since their first visit to Denerim. That Loghain might be behind it was intriguing and certainly worth investigating. "Tomorrow then," she said. Anora excused herself and she was left with the Arl.

They sat and talked for a time, about Anora mostly, and Alistair. It was clear the Arl didn't trust her either, but he warned Miranda to be circumspect with her. It was obvious to her that she despised Alistair as well, which made her doubly glad she had set Zevran to watch over him.

After her talk with the Arl she found Riordan. It was refreshing to have another grey warden to talk to - one who knew more than Alistair about the order's workings. He mentioned the warehouse and she determined to visit it that day - it was possible there were things there she needed.

Finally she made her way to Anora's room. Her shoulder was beginning to ache like fire and she wanted nothing more than a bath and a numbing spell from Wynne's repertoire but she knew she needed to take the woman's measure.

It was obvious she didn't recognise Miranda, and Miranda thought it wouldn't do to antagonise her. Instead, she tried courtesy - always a fall back position. The woman was so sure of herself, so determined, unconsciously echoing her father's stance and tone of voice, that Miranda could barely stay in the same room with her.

When she described Alistair as "biddable" she felt her fist clench, but forced herself to remain civil. When she asked for Miranda's support in the landsmeet she nodded - it was logical. The nobles were desperate for leadership - most of them knew her and her status as a grey warden was more of an advantage now that most of the nobles were aware of Howe's little secrets. Supporting Anora would make sense.

She had no intention of doing it. But she agreed in any case. The woman was a snake, like her father, and would twist out of any agreement unless it was to her advantage. But Miranda had learned a thing or two in the deep roads - at Ostagar - in the basement of Howe's estate, and she would not be bullied by the woman any more.

Afterwards she snuck out of the estate on her own to visit the warehouse and found some interesting items. When she finally got back to her rooms Alistair was there, as was Zevran. Alistair was pacing - a bandage wrapped around his head and she suddenly remembered the ache in her shoulder. She sank on the bed and sighed.

"You've been gone a long time," Alistair said. She nodded wearily and started to remove her armour. He came and helped her when she tried to undo the strap on her left shoulder and cried out with the pain.

"Zevran, call for a servant. We need Wynne in here," Alistair said. Zevran nodded and slipped to the door, returning a few moments later.

"I took the liberty of calling for a bath as well," the Antivan said. "You two stink."

"You can stand outside then, Zevran," she said to him, smiling. The elf sighed lustily.

"If you insist," he said, moving to do so. "But I'll be listening at the door."

Alistair's gentle hands removed the last of her armour and her shirt, exposing the shoulder. It was mottled with red and white from the middle of her upper arm to the tip of her collarbone.

"Maker's breath," Alistair breathed, touching it gently. "How did you function?" His hands were warm and she leaned into him, suddenly more tired than she had ever been.

Wynne slipped inside - saw the shoulder and immediately shooed Alistair to a corner.

"By the maker, child. You should have come to me immediately."

"I'm sorry, Wynne," she said. "Things to do..."

"There's a lot of bruising here, I can stop it spreading further and do something for the pain but I'm afraid you won't be swinging a sword with that hand for at least a day. No armour either, girl. At least two days without pressure on that shoulder while I try to reduce the bruising."

"Yes ser," she said, too tired to offer any resistance.

"And she's not to sleep on the floor tonight, young man," she said to Alistair. "Or do anything... vigorous."

Alistair was leaning against the wall with his arms folded, smiling slightly. "Vigorous? What on earth could you be talking about Wynne?"

"You know very well, Alistair." Power tingled through Wynne's fingers as she directed magic into the shoulder. Miranda drew in her breath sharply at the initial touch of cold, then sighed as warmth spread through the ache.

"Andraste," she breathed. "That feels much better."

"Just because it feels better doesn't mean you can use it," Wynne scolded. "If you'd gotten to me earlier we could have stopped the bruising spreading so far. Silly child. Think of yourself for a change."

Miranda couldn't stop herself from laughing. "Thank you, Wynne."

The servants arrived with the bathtub and hot water shortly afterwards and she sank into it gratefully, with a brief regret that it wasn't big enough for two. Alistair sat on a chair behind her and stroked her hair. She fell asleep at one point and nearly slipped under water.

Eventually Alistair helped her out of the tub and gently dried her. He dressed her in a nightgown (Zevran would still be sleeping in their room) and tucked her into the bed. She protested until he gave her her dagger, which she slipped under the pillow.

She was vaguely aware of Alistair bathing himself, the servants coming in to remove the bath, then a warm Alistair slipped into the bed beside her. Zevran took up his position at the door and she drifted into sleep.

The commotion at the door woke her. There was a grunt and a thud as a body hit the carpet. Zevran was standing with a dagger in each hand.

The body was of one of the servants - a human. He was armoured and armed with a poisoned dagger.

"I guess you weren't overreacting my love," Alistair said. He had leapt out of bed and grabbed his sword when he heard the movement. Zevran had been brutally efficient, however.

"This one managed to disable my warning signals," Zevran said in disgust, kicking at the corpse. "He's another crow, mark my words."

Miranda sighed heavily. "Have him removed," she said to Zevran. "Hopefully we can get some more sleep."

The next morning she sent Leliana, Sten, Morrigan and Wynne to investigate the Alienage. She didn't want to risk leaving the estate and she trusted Leliana's experience in Orlais to get to the bottom of Loghain's dealings.

Eamon did not recognise the body of the assassin and she guessed he had been ensconced in the staff before the Arl's recovery. There was no way of tracing him back to his employers, but that was unnecessary - they already knew who had sent him.

She and Alistair spent the day together, relaxing. Her shoulder had improved dramatically, although it was still stiff and sore, she suspected Wynne had been conservative in her estimates of when she would be able to fight again. Eamon and Anora wisely left them to themselves and they ate a sumptuous lunch (heavy on Redcliffe cheese) before moving to the gardens.

"I brought you a present," she said to Alistair. "It's in my room if you want to come and see it." He grinned at her and she punched him lightly. "Not that sort of present - Wynne told us not to, remember?" He pouted. "I think you'll like it."

"I can't fit any more cheese in," he said.

"It's not edible. Come on."

In her room she took it out from the armoire and handed it to him, wincing a little. It was too heavy for her.

"This shield... it's Duncan's isn't it? That's his crest!"

"You said you wanted something to remember him by."

"I did. I really did. I just never expected.. thank you. Truly I had no idea his shield wasn't with him! This is perfect. I don't know how to express my gratitude. This means a great deal to me."

"I thought it might."

He ran his fingers over it. It was nicked here and there from sword blows and Maker knew what else, but the crest was still clear and it shone with careful tending. "I shall treasure this," he said softly. "Thank you."

She grinned at him. "They certainly taught you how to be polite in the chantry, didn't they?"

He looked up at her and matched her grin. "Oh, they tried," he put the shield on the bed and turned back to her. "I... that reminds me. I have a gift for you as well... I know Satanalia was weeks ago, but I bought this in Orzammar before we left and... there hasn't really been time to give it to you.."

He reached into his pocket and brought out a small box. Then he grinned at her and got down on one knee. "I know you pre-empted this," he said. "But I thought we should make it more formal."

She found herself suddenly unable to look at him, and blushed furiously. "Alistair..."

"Will you marry me?" he asked her.

She took the box from him and opened it. Nestled inside was a band of gold, encrusted with tiny diamonds. It sparkled in the sunlight from the window. She took it out and he got to his feet, taking her left hand and putting it on her finger gently. It fit perfectly.

She still couldn't speak.

"I'm assuming you're going to say yes, eventually," Alistair said then, turning her hand over in his and running his fingers over her palm. She grasped his hand in hers and nodded.

"Of course I am," she managed. He grinned even more widely and leant down to press his lips to hers. The kiss quickly became heated and she brought her arms up around him. He pulled her closer and she couldn't help the whimper of pain as he squeezed her shoulder.

"Ooops," he said, letting her go suddenly. "Wynne was right... I'm sorry."

She laughed. "I'm sure we could be... gentle with each other," she said.

He pursed his lips, but shook his head. "I don't want to hurt you, love," he said, and stepped back. She cocked an eyebrow as she looked downward.

"Such restraint," she said. "It's those damn clothes. Wynne should have specified you stay in armour if she didn't want me taking advantage of you."

"Zevran's just outside," Alistair pointed out. "Let's save this until your shoulder's better and I'm king."

"You know, I've heard it's good to be king," she said, smiling.

"I plan on making it so," he said.

When Leliana and the others got back they were bowed down with weariness and shock. Miranda was outraged - slavery in the alienage! Loghain's depravity knew no bounds.

"Well," the arl said. "Much as it pains me to think of Loghain stooping so low, it seems we have more than enough evidence to convince the landsmeet to turn away from him."

They were dining that evening. "Tomorrow then," Alistair said. Miranda had briefed both the Arl and Alistair about her conversation with Anora, and it was agreed that she would stay out of the landsmeet until her support was needed. There was no point in giving Loghain time to realise she was with them - it was possible he might be able to muster a defence against her support of Eamon.

That night there were no attacks. She slept soundly, despite the anticipation of the next day. They had done everything they could to ensure their success.

Entering the Landsmeet chamber was daunting. The arl had got there first, his voice rang out as they entered and she tensed at his words. Loghain stood, proud and sure, in the middle of the room. His commanding presence was daunting, but she lifted her head as he caught her eyes. She and Alistair and the others were dressed in full armour - she had no illusions that Loghain wouldn't try something if things didn't go his way. They were the only ones so dressed, save Loghain himself and his guards. She suppressed a wry smile - the man obviously thought in much the same way as she did.

Alistair remained silent, as agreed, as the arguments flew back and forth. She could feel the mood of the landsmeet as it turned towards her. Anora's support was the last straw and she felt an upswelling of triumph as the final lord declared for her.

She issued the challenge to Loghain, as was required by chantry law. Alistair stepped forward to be her champion - she was still unable to fight due to her shoulder and she knew he would never forgive her if she didn't give him this opportunity.

A look of obscure pain flitted across Loghain's face that was quickly replaced by a sneer. "So, let us test the mettle of our would be King," he said.

Alistair drew his sword and settled Duncan's shield on his arm.

She knew him now, so well. He was a better fighter than he'd ever been, but she still had her heart in her mouth. Loghain was the hero of Ferelden - he hadn't got there by being clumsy.

But Alistair didn't falter. He was precise, calculated and deadly in his attacks. Loghain was obviously tired and distressed - his constant paranoia had eaten away at his reserves. Although he was powerful and skilled, Alistair was some twenty years his junior and had the advantage of his grey warden's stamina. When finally Loghain collapsed, she let out a sigh of relief.

"So," the older man panted from where he knelt. "There is something of Maric in you after all."

Alistair didn't bother to remove his helm. "Forget Maric," he said. "This is for Duncan."

Anora leapt forward, protesting, but it was too late. Alistair drew back his sword and decapitated Loghain in one motion.

Miranda jumped. She hadn't truly expected Alistair to be so brutal in front of the entire landsmeet, but part of her realised it was to their advantage. Most of the opposition to Alistair would be based on his reputation of being weak. Decapitating a rival in an audience chamber would certainly go a long way to dispelling that assumption.

"So it is decided," Eamon said. "Alistair will take his father's throne."

"I accept," Alistair said. "And let me announce at the same time my intention to take a wife as soon as I am crowned. My Queen, Miranda Cousland."

There was a stunned silence. Anora's face tightened with rage and Eamon raised his eyebrows in shock. Miranda stepped forward and took Alistair's hand. The landsmeet, lead by Bann Teagan, she was pleased to note, broke into measured applause.

She and Alistair had discussed what to do with Anora the night before. Although Miranda favoured killing her, she didn't say it out loud, and when Alistair suggested imprisonment until at least after the blight, she could see his reasoning. Although part of her squirmed at not only the thought that she or Alistair might not survive the blight, the country could not afford more civil war, and having a secure line of succession would help that a great deal.

That evening they dismissed Zevran and spent the night as an engaged couple. The next day they started for Redcliffe.


	12. Chapter 12

TWELVE

By the time they arrived her shoulder had healed - which was a good thing considering they were met by darkspawn. Suspiciously few of them however. By the time they fought their way to the castle gates she was panicking. This wasn't the horde. They had come to the wrong place.

Riordan confirmed her fears. They were two days from Denerim and by the time they got there the chances were very high the city would be flattened.

"We have to try, though," Alistair said. She was proud of the ring of command she could hear in his voice. He was already justifying the landsmeet's decision.

Teagan and Eamon agreed. A forced march to Denerim the next day. She sighed - she was tired and anxious and desperate for the confrontation that would end the blight. She fingered the ring on her finger and found herself wistfully thinking of being confined to the palace - forced to wear finery and entertain nobles.

She grinned at herself.

Riordan asked them both to attend him in his quarters to discuss the final battle with the archdemon. She was curious, naturally, that this needed specific instructions. Surely they just had to cut its head off? Alistair looked puzzled as well, but they followed him anyway.

Alistair took her hand as Riordan explained why it had to be a grey warden that killed the archdemon. His fingers tightened around hers. She opened her mouth to reply but no words would come.

"One of us has to die?" Alistair said in a small voice.

Riordan nodded. "Don't worry. If at all possible I intend to make the final blow myself. I am the eldest, and the taint will not long spare me. But you need to know, in case I fail."

Alistair's fingers were painfully tight on hers but there was no way she was going to let him go. When they left the room, still silent, Morrigan was waiting for them outside.

"My friend," she said to Miranda. "I need to talk to you alone."

Alistair almost snarled at the witch. "This is hardly the time," he said. Miranda shushed him.

"I'll come to you in a moment," she said softly. He looked at her desperately, then nodded.

She followed Morrigan mutely to her room. Her brain had shut down completely at Riordan's words. _The blight has to end. One of us has to die_. The two thoughts ran through her over and over, driving out anything else.

"I know what happens when an archdemon dies," Morrigan said. "I know why a grey warden has to make the final blow."

Her head snapped up and looked into Morrigan's eyes. Her friend's eyes. Since their encounter with Flemeth, Morrigan had been a different woman. Her snide comments at Alistair had not ceased, but of an evening she had been civil to the other companions, and they had spent many hours on the road speaking. In many ways Miranda felt closer to Morrigan than any other of her companions, save Alistair.

She listened to the offer. Her brain had not ceased its constant reiteration of the same thoughts, but as Morrigan spoke, another thread introduced itself _We can stop it from happening..._

But the price...

Morrigan saw her hesitation, took her hand, and sat with her on the bed. "My friend," she said then. "I know you care for the boy..." she looked vaguely disgusted, "for all I don't understand it. I would not suggest this if there were any other way, believe me. But Flemeth gave me this knowledge. My guess is now she wished to use the child herself as a host - once my body grew too old. She wished to harness the power this child will carry. I give my word... I will not do this. I will raise the child and care for it. Neither you, nor Alistair will ever see it, or me again."

"Never?" Miranda said then. "Morrigan, I don't want to lose you either."

"Nor I you," she said. "I never knew friendship, until I met you and it will hurt me to walk away. But you must know the other wardens will never let this child live. Never let me live. To be honest tis a surprise to me that these chantry-loving nobles have allowed me in their presence at all. A testament to your influence, Miranda, and your power, I think. I must leave after the battle. No matter what."

"I... don't know if I will be able to convince him," she said then. She didn't know when she had made the decision to try.

"Alistair will do as you ask," Morrigan said. "He loves you. As do we all."

"It could destroy us," it came out as almost a wail.

Morrigan smiled sadly. "I think not, my friend," she said. "I will do what I can to make sure it does not."

She let out a sigh and got to her feet. "I'll try to convince him," she said. "By the Maker, I hope I can."

Morrigan nodded. "I will wait here for him," she said softly. "But Miranda, if you cannot convince him, I will have to leave tonight."

"I'll do it, Morrigan," she said then.

He was pacing in his room when she got there. "Alistair we need to talk," she said.

"Oh. I guess whatever Morrigan had to say was big."

She looked down at her hands and took a breath that was half a sob. "Hey," he said, stepping forward and lifting her chin with his hand. "What is it?"

"Alistair.. what if I told you there was a way to avoid dying tomorrow?"

"You mean with the archdemon, don't you? If you mean running away I won't do that. But.. you don't mean that, do you? What's this about?"

She told him. He laughed at first, but the first chuckle set her off into a flood of tears.

"What?.. Miranda I've never seen you like this... you can't really be serious?" She nodded and he put an arm around her and they both sat on the bed until her sobs subsided somewhat. "Have sex with Morrigan or be killed by an archdemon... how do you make that kind of choice?"

She hit him weakly on the arm through her tears. "Alistair, I won't let you die. I can't.... I can't let you die and I know you won't let me do it and if Riordan.."

"Riordan is a capable warden..."

"But Howe had him tortured - there's no way he's going to fight as well as he normally does. What if he fails? What if it has to be one of us who kills the archdemon? Morrigan's offer means _none _of us have to die."

He stroked her shoulder but remained silent for a long moment. "Put yourself in my position for a moment," she said then. "If you knew there was a chance I could die... what wouldn't you do to stop it?"

He looked down at her and his eyes were full. "I would do anything," he said softly. "Anything at all."

She couldn't stop the tears from flowing again. "I don't want you to.. " she started, then stopped.

"Miranda," he said softly. "Nothing that happens tonight will change how I feel about you. _Nothing._"

She nodded. "She's in my room," she said. "I told her I'd send you there if I managed to convince you."

He knelt on the floor in front of her and took both of her hands in his. "I love you," he said, and rested his head on her knee for a moment before getting up and leaving the room.

She stayed in the same position for what seemed like a long time. She didn't bother to remove her armour, simply stared at the door he had walked out of, willing it to open again, for him to be there, for nothing to have changed.

Eventually it opened and he stood there. His hair was wet and he was wearing a shirt and breeches. He looked the same as ever - _her _warden. She opened her mouth to ask a question but realised she didn't want to hear the answer and simply sat there, looking at him. He came forward then, and gathered her into his arms, kissing her face, her neck over and over. She felt hot wetness on her skin and realised he was crying silently as he kissed her and she let her own tears fall as they lay back on the bed. He undressed her gently and they curled up together, holding each other until they fell asleep.

The next morning she awoke to find Alistair propped up on his elbow, looking down at her. It felt for a moment like their first morning together - save they were in a bed, not a tent and his face was tinged with melancholy rather than filled with boyish glee.

"Aren't you going to tell me I snore?" she said sleepily. He smiled then and leaned down to kiss her. There was nothing different in the kiss - no evidence that he had done anything other than lie with her the night before and she felt some of her tension disappear.

"We're going to be married," he said. "I'll have to get used to your snoring I suppose."

"I'm going to be queen, right?" she said after a while.

"Why, yes, I believe you are."

"And you said it might be difficult for us to have children?"

He nodded, raising his eyebrow.

"Well then, it would be stupid not to take every opportunity to make one, then, wouldn't it?"

He grinned, and they spent a good hour doing their best to pretend the night before had never happened.

They almost succeeded.

The two days to Denerim passed in a blur for her. When they were within sight of the city and she caught her second view of the archdemon she felt nothing but resolve, and pride in Alistair. He spoke to the troops and she found herself remembering tales of Maric and even Loghain before battle. Maybe it brought out the best in men. Maybe he'd always been a good public speaker - she realised he'd never really had the opportunity in her company before.

In any case during the two day trip they had stayed together like glue and some of their sadness had passed. Morrigan had done a lot to assuage her fears as well - she had come to her in the morning after the ritual and placed her hand on Miranda's arm.

"My friend, it was quick and efficient and something I never want to repeat."

Miranda had even managed to grin at that.

The horror that Denerim had become helped somewhat. It was so changed that she didn't recognise it as the same city. She'd not spent enough time there for her to feel like it was a home, and although her heart ached for the people she saw suffering, she was doing everything in her power to stop that suffering.

Once they took the gate and she split their party, however, she realised how close they were to ending the Blight and couldn't stop herself from being excited. She wondered at herself, that she could feel keen anticipation of the fights ahead of her and decided it must be because, no matter what else, this day represented an end. An end to something that had started more than a year before with the deaths of her family. The best and worst year of her life.

They fought their way through the market district. It was strange having troops to back them up - she consulted with Alistair on how best to utilise them. A party of five or six was all she was used to, and she flinched every time she saw a man fall. Still, their progress was much more rapid than she could have hoped.

At the palace district they saw Riordan fall. There was a lull in the rush of darkspawn and they were able to watch his attempt to slay the dragon - noble but ultimately fruitless. Alistair took her hand as they watched the small figure fall and she hung her head. Morrigan's ritual was all that would save them now. The witch came up to them, then, and nodded at them. "I assure you," she said. "This will not fail. I am sorry, though, that Riordan is dead. I had hoped to save all three of you."

Alistair's face took on an incredulous expression, and Morrigan laughed suddenly. "Even you, Alistair," she said. "You're far too valuable for this woman to lose. And I find myself quite enraptured with the idea of my friend becoming queen."

Alistair cocked his eyebrow at the witch before letting out a smile. Miranda's heart swelled. "Morrigan.. we can protect you," she said. "You don't need to leave."

She shook her head. "I am sorry, my friend. But you will live well without me. You will live gloriously. And I shall know."

Miranda stepped forward and hugged her tightly. Morrigan didn't seem to know what to do in response, until Alistair's voice popped up from behind them. "The idea is to put your arms around her, Morrigan. And squeeze."

She did.

As they made their way up to Fort Drakon, Miranda got close to Alistair's ear. "How did you manage... the other night?"

He frowned down at her. "Let's just say hugging isn't the only thing she's not very good at," he replied.

She laughed, then, and found she could face this battle with the two of them next to her - her family now.

When they reached the archdemon she found it almost impossible to believe that it directed the darkspawn. There was a mindless ferocity about it - an animal cunning that had nothing to do with intelligence and everything to do with the desire for destruction. Perhaps the taint had made it the way it was - there was no mistaking its corruption - it was all she could do to hold in her nausea as she fought.

The mages and elves and dwarves fought alongside them. Eamon was there, swinging his sword in great sweeps that felled five darkspawn at once. The dragon, crippled by Riordan's attack on its wing, was maddened and crushed darkspawn and human alike.

Alistair fought next to her as always, covering her with Duncan's shield, sapping magical strength from the dragon to stop its attacks. She could feel him tiring, however. They were all tiring. The forced march and fight through Denerim had taken more out of them than she had realised.

When the dragon snapped its head forward and closed its jaws around Alistair's middle she screamed louder than he did. She clutched at the beast's neck as it lifted its head, riding it like an enraged horse. Using all her skill, every lesson taught her as a child and in her journey, she swung her legs so she sat astride the beast and lifted her sword, plunging it down into the back of the beasts head and into its brain.

She felt it shudder and open its jaws. Alistair was dropped to the ground and she was surrounded by light. It burned - she could feel white hot heat - but it didn't destroy. She threw back her head and screamed with the pain, unable to let go of the hilt of her sword, filled with light, with heat, with death until the sensations completely overwhelmed her and consciousness shut down.

Her forehead was being stroked by a calloused hand. She was warm, and comfortable and sleepy and she knew the hand well. It was a beloved hand - one that she thought she'd lost.

She murmured and turned her head towards it, her eyelids flickering open to see a familiar face smiling down at her.

"Sister," Fergus said. "It is good to see you."

She sat up in surprise. "Fergus!" she cried, then nearly passed out again.

"Easy, now," another voice said from the other side of the bed. "Don't overdo it my love."

Alistair sat in a chair next to the bed, pale, but whole. "Oh, Alistair!" She simply looked at him for a long moment, drinking in his presence like a fine wine. That the two of them could be here... "I'm not dead, am I?" she said suddenly, frowning slightly.

He laughed, then winced. "No, no, my love. Very much alive."

"I thought you'd been chewed in half."

"I very nearly was," he said, and lifted his shirt to show his middle swathed in bandages. "There are going to be some very interesting scars there later, Wynne tells me."

"Nothing essential was damaged I hope?"

He laughed. "No, everything intact. No need to be frightened on that account."

Fergus chuckled. "I go away for a few months and look what happens when I get back! I find I have a little sister who has united Ferelden, killed an archdemon and... from what this young gentleman tells me... become queen!"

She weakly held up her left hand, the third finger still held her ring. "Seems that way," she said, smiling. She let her head fall back on the pillow, sighing happily. "Archdemon definitely dead?" she said, her eyes drifting shut.

She could hear the grin in Alistair's voice. "Definitely."

"Alistair and Fergus definitely alive?"

There were two affirmative replies this time.

She turned her head to the side and felt herself drifting off to sleep. "Job well done," she murmured softly.

When she woke again only Alistair was there - asleep in the chair next to her bed. She sat up gingerly, trying to feel if anything was broken. Apart from a slight stiffness in her shoulder she seemed to be whole. She felt lighter, somehow.

"You look amazing," Alistair's voice came from the chair and she turned to him, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. The room was full of light from huge double windows and she realised she had no idea where she was.

He grinned at her. "We're in the royal apartments of the palace," he said. "Virtually undamaged - luckily. Get used to them - they're yours now."

"Ours, you mean," she said. "But won't the landsmeet be a bit iffy about me sharing them with you before the wedding?"

"Hey, I'm King aren't I?"

"You might be planning on ruining me and running off with Leliana."

He stood up, wincing, and came to sit on the bed next to her, cupping her chin with his hand and bringing her face close to his. "Never," he breathed, and kissed her.

She lost herself in the kiss, feeling anew the roughness of his cheek, the heat of his lips and brought a hand up to tangle in his hair - so soft. Her other arm came around his middle and she drew him closer... and felt him wince and pull back.

"Ow!... ow....ow..." he said. "Injured! Remember? Big archdemon? Lots of teeth?" She grimaced in apology but couldn't help smiling as well.

"So how long have we got?" He looked puzzled. "Before the vultures arrive and we have to be formal and hero-ish."

"Oh.. that. Well. If I moan and groan a bit we've probably got a couple of days. You could look faint and helpless for a while too - it couldn't hurt."

She laughed. "A long time then," she said, and reached up to kiss him again.

They managed to squeeze three days of relaxation - it would take that long to make the throne room decent in any case, and the Revered Mother had to travel from the monastery outside Denerim - luckily bypassed by the darkspawn - for the coronation. Alistair's wounds had been severe - Wynne told Miranda privately that most hadn't believed he would survive. She was grateful she had been unconscious for that period of uncertainty.

Morrigan had been true to her word and disappeared. Although she was sad at the loss of her friend, she was so buoyant otherwise, with the unexpected arrival of Fergus and Alistair's survival that the sadness was secondary to gratitude. She hoped she would see the witch again.

There were partings, after the coronation. Sten was returning to the Qunari. Leliana was going to the Ashes with the chantry sisters, Wynne back to the circle. Zevran had offered to stay with her and Alistair and she'd been grateful - there were still rumblings about Alistair's appointment and she would feel safer with the assassin on hand. Shale had plans of her own and Oghren muttered something about an old girlfriend he wanted to look up.

Fergus and Alistair became fast friends and it warmed her heart to see the two men she considered all her family in the world so close.

A few months after the coronation, there was a wedding. It was sumptuous, extravagant, royal. The couple were radiant - he in the golden armour that had once belonged to King Cailan, she in white satin that set off the dark curls of her hair and clear grey of her eyes. There were comments on the handsomeness of the pair. A delegation from Orlais attended and were overheard to admire the Queen's shoes.

Miranda and her husband got tipsy at the reception and retired early. At least, that's what the red haired bridesmaid told everyone who asked.

It wasn't entirely true.


End file.
